Aged Heart Meets Young Soul
by Inkblooded Witch
Summary: Arthur Kirkland an Ancient, one of the first warlocks. As such he doesn't age. He keeps to himself, steering clear of humans and other magica alike, and for centuries he thought he was happy this way. That is until one day, during a stent in the American state of Texas, he encounters a young human who might just change his mind. Rated T to be safe, mild cursing and steam. ON HOLD.
1. Prologue

**Okay, first posted story. It's going to be one of my slower, milder ones. If enough people like it and review I might do a squeal that's faster paced. USUK is one of my favorite pairings, so without further ado here we go.**

**Edit: It has come to my attention that I am starting with Arthur 'already changed'. I apologize for this, but my intention was to place this scene at the beginning of the end, as it were. If you click over to Chapter 1 you will find yourself at the real beginning. I would like to thank Silverwind10123 for bringing this to my attention. (See what happens when you review!)**

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Arthur sat on the porch swing, looking out over the front yard as the sun set. Orange fingers poked through the trees, twilight slowly creeping over their property. The road, a half mile away from their house, was barely visible now.

It was this time of day that was Arthur's favorite. He remembered it had once spelled a sense of fear, but no more. This was the 21st century America, and he was sitting safely in the rural depths of Tennessee.

"Iggy?"

Arthur turned his head to look at Alfred, used to the name by now. "What is it, love?"

Even though he was technically twenty six, he was still a boy to Arthur. A part of him still couldn't believe he'd gone through with it, shared his curse with the boy. Another part knew he wouldn't have been able to bare it if he hadn't.

Clear blue eyes met his, and Alfred asked, "How come you like sunsets so much? I mean they're pretty and all, but every day it's clear you're out here."

Arthur smiled faintly, turning back to watch the fading light. He tilted his head, leaning against Alfred. "It is beautiful, but that's not all of it. A sunset is the end of the day, the beginning of night. It means you made it another day, and you can start again tomorrow. The coming night is something of a mystery, always has been."

Pressing his lips to Arthur's temple Alfred asked, "There a surprise you haven't mentioned yet, Iggy?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "No, and if you keep that up there won't be anything at all."

Alfred pouted, but then asked, "Do you ever get bored, watching things go on without you?"

"Mmm, I used to," admitted Arthur. "They say history repeats itself, and it does, though I admit the technological advances were interesting. I don't think boredom will be a problem anymore, you won't allow for that."

"Nope!" said Alfred cheerfully. "I won't let ya get bored."

Arthur chuckled. "No, I suppose you won't."

Regrets? No, he had no regrets. If he did they were quickly brushed aside. After all these years, Arthur finally found someone, and he wasn't about to let something as insignificant as time tear Alfred away.

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**I'm going to be posting Chapter 1 either way, but I still love reviews :)**

**Edit: It has come to my attention that I am starting with Arthur 'already changed'. I apologize for this, but my intention was to place this scene at the beginning of the end, as it were. If you click over to Chapter 1 you will find yourself at the real beginning. I would like to thank Silverwind10123 for bringing this to my attention. (See what happens when you review!)**


	2. Chapter 1

**This isn't my usual style, but it looks like this story is going to be a handful of really long chapters. Enjoy!**

**Edit: I would like to thank ****Silverwind10123 for the wicked-awesome review. As thanks please imagine me hugging you very tightly and letting go seconds before you pass out :) I apologize for not putting this in the pre-story before, but I seriously read your review right after I posted Chapter 1.  
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If you asked anyone in the neighborhood about the man who lived in 1313 Redwood Lane, you could only get a general idea. Nothing too specific, and nothing that made you want to knock on the door to introduce yourself. He interacted with people as little as possible and could be very grumpy. He came and went like clockwork on certain days, to where no one really knew. Other times it was like the house was deserted for weeks on end.

The man's name was Arthur Kirkland, but only a few people knew even that. To everyone else he was the grumpy man next door. He wasn't very tall or very old looking, in fact he didn't look a day passed 25. He was very lean, very pale, had shaggy sandy blond hair, bushy brows, a face that never seemed to smile, and chilling toxic green eyes.

It was a persona Arthur had designed to keep, and he had done just that for a long time. What people in the human world didn't know was that he was one of the oldest people on earth, as well as the world's most powerful warlock. It was well known that for every child born the power they held grew stronger, and Arthur was the youngest of four brothers. There weren't as many of his kind as there once was, but beings of magic could only be killed by magic, so here they stayed. Centuries ago he had started cutting himself off from most of both the human and magic world. The other warlocks knew and remembered him, but as a whole they had faded out of touch. The other Ancients kept minimal contact, content to remain invisible among the human populations.

Arthur spent a long time in England, but in the last few decades had moved to Texas, America. It was quite nice, actually. He was happy here. No one had bothered him in ages, and he was free to do what he pleased in peace.

Then, on that faithful morning in early summer, something happened that would shake the warlock's world like nothing since the second world war.

Arthur had just brewed his morning tea, and was settling down in his parlor with a book when something heavy thumped on the roof. Frowning, the warlock lowered his tea into its saucer, peering upward. That sounded much too loud to be one of those annoying squirrels…

_Thump! Thump! Thudthudthud!_

Scowling, the grumpy warlock stood and shook his hands out, ready to get rid of any mischief makers even if it meant sending sparks after their behinds. He marched out of the parlor, through the back door, and into his backyard. When he turned to peer up at the roof over the back porch and parlor, he was surprised to see a child working his way expertly up the roof.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he called up.

The boy yelled, pin-wheeling his arms and dropping to all fours to maintain his balance. Then he braced a hand on the roof, half turned, and called, "Sorry mister! I have to get my kite!"

Arthur's frown turned to a scowl, but when he looked higher he saw there was indeed a kite caught on the second level of the roof, the string hooked on some ivy vines.

"How did it get up here?" he asked, taking a few steps closer to the house. "How did _you_ get up there?"

"There's not much wind right now, but there's always more the higher you go," the blond child said cheerfully in a loud voice as he clambered up Arthur's roof. "I wanted to fly it, but I couldn't, so I tried to throw it off our roof. But there still wasn't enough wind, so it went onto your roof."

"Fine, fine, but how did you get up there?"

"I climbed," he chirped, grabbing the kite with one hand and pointing with the other.

Arthur followed the hand, and deepened his scowl when he realized the boy had clambered up the oak tree near the house. It was actually an impressive feat, considering there were no branches for the first solid five feet and reaching the roof would involve shimmying across a long limb.

When Arthur looked back, the boy was sliding himself down the roof on his backside, the triangular blue kite with the Superman logo slung across his back. Rather curious, he kept his peace, watching to see how the boy would get back down.

The boy eased his way to the edge of the roof, and as easily as a cat, wormed his way back onto the limb and shimmied his way back to the main trunk. From there he climbed down a few limbs and hopped nimbly to the ground.

Straightening, he gave Arthur a big smile and said, "Sorry for the trouble, mister. You know, you're not as crotchety as they say you are."

Arthur spluttered, "I beg your pardon?"

Who was this boy, this _child_, to speak to him like that? There was no way he could be more than seven years old, judging by his height and gangly limbs. He was fair but looked like he spent a good amount of time outside, his short hair honey blond with an odd cowlick at the front, his guileless eyes as blue as the cloudless sky, his smile white and perfect save for the missing lower left canine. He was wearing jean shorts, light up sneakers, and a plane white t-shirt.

"Everybody says you're old and grumpy, but you're not that old, are you? You're hair's not even white. That's why we always walk on the other side of the street."

Arthur blinked. He hadn't noticed the children avoiding his house, but then he hadn't noticed them much for centuries if he could help it.

"You talk funny, where are you from?"

"England," he said crisply.

"Do they always talk like that over there?"

"Some. We have different accents like they do here."

"Oh. Thanks for letting me get my kite, mister," he said, trotting back over to the tree.

Arthur watched the boy wrap his hands around the lowest limb and walk his way up the trunk until he could hook a leg around it, pulling himself upright on it. Before he could ask, the warlock realized he was moving to a different limb…one that reached over the fence to the yard next door.

The boy crouched, about to hop over the fence, but stopped and looked back at him.

"What's your name, mister?"

"Arthur," he said, wondering if he should be irritated that the boy had just hopped the fence into his property.

"I'm Alfred, Alfred F. Jones!"

With that, the blond haired boy dropped across the fence.

* * *

It was not the last time Arthur ever saw Alfred. Not by a long shot.

Later that afternoon, Arthur was about to go up to his workshop and work on a potion he'd recently been trying to perfect when someone knocked on his door. More precisely, they knocked loudly on the door three times and then pushed the doorbell.

Frowning in annoyance, because normally not even the UPS man knocked, Arthur went to open the door.

He blinked down at the little boy smiling up at him, the kite once more slung across his back. Only this time it was restrung, the handle with the cord wrapped around it in one hand.

"Can I borrow your roof again, Arthur? It's higher than mine, and the weather man said its 10 miles per hour faster than it was this morning."

"Can't you find some other place?"

Alfred shook his head rapidly. "The wind's finally picking up, I don't wanna waste time looking for some place higher."

Arthur sighed. "Very well, but be careful."

The grin that spread across his face was almost blinding. "Thanks Artie!"

"It's _Arthur_ you bloody twit," snapped Arthur as the boy bounded off his porch and ran around to the backyard. Heaving a world weary sigh, Arthur stepped out, shut the door, and followed him around. "Better make sure the idiot doesn't fall and break something," he muttered.

By the time he came around to the side of the house, Alfred was already scrambling up to the roof of the top level of the old house with the dexterity of a monkey. He settled himself on the east slope of the roof, unslung the kite, and held it up. Immediately the wind caught it, pulling it tight against the string. Alfred unwound it quickly, a smile on his face as the Superman kite fluttered and swayed in the sky.

Arthur wasn't sure how long he watched the boy fly his kite, but eventually the sun began to set, and the warlock almost jumped as something tugged at his sleeve. Looking down, he saw another child that looked very much like the one perched on the roof. This one, however, hand long hair, a curl instead of a cowlick, and eyes that were more purple than blue. He wore identical shorts and shoes, but his white shirt had a red maple leaf on the front.

In a voice so soft Arthur almost missed it, he said, "Alfred needs to come home for dinner now."

"Oh, um, right. Who are you?"

"I'm Mathew, his brother."

Turning back up towards the boy, Arthur called, "Oi! Mathew's come to get you, come down."

"'Kay!" called Alfred, waving down before he started to reel in the kite. "Thanks Mattie!"

"I'm sorry if he bothered you, sir," said Mathew.

"Not at all," said Arthur, surprised when he actually meant it.

Over the next few weeks, Arthur began to see more and more of the boy. A few days later he came to borrow his roof again. Once, during a morning game of hide and seek with the other neighborhood children Alfred came banging on his door, asking if he could hide inside.

"It's really hot, and all the other good spots are taken!" he'd blurted, glancing back down the street as the countdown reached the single digits.

Perhaps it was the way he was anxiously hopping from foot to foot, but Arthur let him inside. The boy ducked inside gratefully, and the warlock shut the door. He really did look hot, his face flushed and sweat rolling down his temple, and a glance at the thermometer on the porch stated it was 95 degrees out.

"I was about to make some tea, but I think lemonade would be better suited for the weather," he mused aloud. "Care to join me?"

Alfred wasn't 'found' for over an hour. He was quite content sitting in Arthur's parlor, legs swinging in one of the wooden chairs, drinking lemonade and chattering away about anything and everything. Arthur had set out a plate of scones out of habit, and was shocked when Alfred munched happily on them. Everyone except Arthur himself had always hated his cooking, even other humans, and it was a shock to have Alfred actually enjoy them. What's more, he found himself listening to the child's chatter.

Mathew eventually remembered his twin braved the territory of the grouchy old man, and timidly edged up to the front door to press the door bell when the adults were getting ready to call the police.

From that point on, it was rare Arthur went more than a day without seeing the boy.

One of the most common reasons behind his visits was food. The first time Alfred came nosing around, he said in his blunt manner, "Mom hasn't been to the store in a while, so we're out of snacks. Can I have some scones?"

Normally Arthur would be highly annoyed. But he was thrilled to have someone not only tolerate his cooking but _enjoy_ it. He was all too happy to let the lad in and sit him down in the parlor with a dish of scones. Promptly two hours later, his little-used phone began to ring.

"I'm very sorry to disturb you, Mr. Kirkland, but have you seen my son, Alfred? I can't find him anywhere and Mathew said he sometimes comes over there."

"Yes, he's been over here for some time. Should I send him home?"

"If he's making a nuisance of himself, absolutely. I'm sorry if he's been bothering you lately, I had no idea."

"No, it's quite all right. He's not that hard to tolerate, quite a nice boy."

Not only that, but Arthur began to _enjoy_ the boys company.

The 4th of July wasn't a date with any special meaning to Arthur, but he always expected a lot of ruckus. While this year held true to form, he was mildly surprised when Alfred banged on his door as the sun began to set. Perhaps the lad wanted him to set off fireworks or something.

Alfred was wet, his hair plastered to his head, a Batman towel wrapped around his shoulders and Captain America swim trunks around his waist. He was barefoot, and he was holding a paper plate with a big slice of cake on it with a plastic fork.

"You wanna have some cake, Iggy?" he asked, holding it up to the man. "We're having a party, and dad said we could set fireworks off latter."

"Err, no thank you, lad," said Arthur. "And how many times do I have to tell you not to call me Iggy?" Frankly he had no idea when or how the nickname had come around. It was even worse than Artie, but the lad refused to call him anything else. He had given up berating the lad for it most of the time.

Alfred pouted, and as usual ignored the request. "Please? It'll be fun. Besides, this is birthday cake, and birthday cake is always the best."

That caught him by surprise. "Whose birthday is it?"

"Mine and Mathews," he chirped.

"Oh, well, happy birthday then."

Alfred thrust the cake into his hands and trotted off the porch. Turning to wave as he ran, he called, "Come over once it gets dark, 'kay?"

Arthur looked down at the cake, and then stepped back inside. Curious, he took a bite as he made his way up to his workshop. It was sugary, but not entirely repulsive. Marbled chocolate and vanilla with butter cream icing.

Why hadn't the lad mentioned it sooner? More importantly, why did he feel compelled to get Alfred something? Mathew too, of course, they were twins after all, but it was Alfred who held a special place in the old warlocks heart.

Arthur set the remainder of the cake down on a work table, and started rummaging through the old boxes and crates. There had to be something here that would appeal to a young child, he was certain.

It took some time, but he did find it. A crate of fireworks from Wang Yao, a Chinese warlock that was even older than he. The man made these for fun, often throwing in his own tricks. Now it was just a matter of a light application of magic.

Arthur walked across to the Jones-William's front yard as the sun went down, the fireworks starting to light the sky. He found Alfred, Mathew, their parents, and several other children there with a box of basic fireworks. The children were all laughing, running around with sparklers and waving them around like wands.

When Alfred saw him, his face lit up and he ran over to him. "See, Mattie? I told ya he'd come!"

Arthur felt a smile tug at his face, despite himself. "Indeed. Happy birthday, both of you," he said, handing the twins each a canister with a tail of flammable twine.

Even as they bounced up and down excitedly, Mr. Jones drifted over worriedly.

"Are those legal?"

Arthur smiled innocently and lied through his teeth. "Of course. A friend of mine dabbles in pyrotechnics for fun. He gave me an entire crate some time ago. Though I think they will appreciate them more than I."

"Can we light 'em dad? Please, can we, huh?"

"All right, all right, hold your horses. Which one do you want to light first?"

"Mine!" said Alfred, beating Mathew to the punch.

Arthur stepped in. "Actually, these were meant to go off as a pair."

The twins exchanged exited looks. Mr. Jones looked doubtful. "You sure about this?"

"Completely."

The canisters were lit at the exact same time, and went off in the exact same heartbeat. As twin beams of sparks arched into sky, dragons came to life, one of red and one of blue, weaving around the pillars and then darting to weave with each other as they went higher and higher. Then, finally, all four exploded at once, filling the sky with light. The beams erupted into a sun and moon, the dragons two distinct letters: A and M.

Arthur watched the boys faces as much as the show. The looks of open mouthed, wide eyed wonder was message enough that he had found a good present.

No one spoke until long after they had faded.

"That…was…awesome!" said Alfred, jumping as he said the last word. "Thanks Iggy!"

"Who did you say made those again?" asked a very stunned Mr. Jones.

Arthur gave him an innocent smile. "An old friend."

* * *

Alfred was a regular at 1313 Redwood Lane from then on. Anything seemed to draw the boy, from hunger to boredom. On the days too hot to play outside or when the rain came pouring down, Arthur discovered the lad had an artistic knack. Alfred started barrowing his flowerbeds and other yard features for drawing practice, then when he tired of plants and birds he would wander through Arthur's house.

When school started again it was routine for Alfred to come straight there for scones. Then he would sit quietly and do his homework while Arthur sat across from him and read. If he ever had a question he would ask the warlock. He was quite an intelligent boy, Arthur soon discovered, particularly with math and science.

When Halloween rolled around, a holiday Arthur normally despised, Alfred was bouncing off the walls with excitement. In the end, when Alfred's Superman costume fell victim to a washing accident and there was no chance of finding a replacement, Arthur made him a new one, the old fashioned way.

Mathew would sometimes join his twin, but usually not. It took less than a month for Arthur to realize that things were not going well at home, hence why Alfred had started spending less and less time there.

When the divorce came a year later it was Arthur's door Alfred burst through, tears running down his cheeks. It was the first time Arthur had ever seen him cry, not even when he'd fallen and badly scraped his knee. "Hero's don't cry," he'd said, keeping a stiff upper lip. When Arthur found himself trying to comfort the child that had buried his face in his chest, he said, "Villains don't cry, lad. Hero's know when to cry."

The twins could not be separated, so Mr. Jones moved across town and every other week they would be with him. Alfred wasn't allowed to come that far to see Arthur during those times, and Arthur was surprised by how grumpy he became in the lad's absence. It was strange, how much one young person could lighten his mood and brighten his day.

Time went by. Alfred grew up before Arthur's eyes. He never stopped coming over for scones after school, never stopped prodding the warlock for answers to English questions, never stopped drawing Arthur's teapot collection. And, to Arthur's annoyance, still insisted on calling him Artie or Iggy most of the time.

Try as he might to ignore it, Arthur felt pain as the child grew. He would never age, never wither, but Alfred would.

By the time he was in high school Alfred was eye-to-eye with him. He grew tall, strong, and handsome. Broad shoulders, the muscle that came from being on the football team, fair skin tanned from hours in the sun, handsome features that were never fully rid of the baby fat, a perfect smile, and clear, bright eyes. The cowlick never left, either.

They talked, they laughed, they argued, they fought…but at the end of the day Alfred would never leave the house angry, only happy.

One thing Arthur noticed, though, was that he never dated. Even on prom night he chose to go to the movies with Mathew. The warlock tried not to think much of it.

Then, at the end of junior year, everything changed.

It was a normal day, Alfred had come over after school, eaten his scones, and had cracked open the books. Then, out of the blue, he said, "I'm going into the military."

Arthur choked on his tea. "What?" he managed after Alfred thumped him on the back.

"The military," he said, sitting back down. "We don't have a lot of money, but the military will pay for your education if you work for them for a set number of years."

"Do you have any idea what you want to do in the military?" demanded Arthur.

"I wanna be a sniper."

Arthur stared at him. Alfred stared back. The warlock couldn't believe what he was hearing from the boy that, even now, stared back at him with clear, guileless eyes.

"A sniper? Will you be able to do that? Will you be able to lay on the ground hundreds of feet away, pull the trigger, and watch a stranger's head explode?"

It wasn't the first time he saw the steel in Alfred, but it was the first time it was this strong.

"I know what I want to do, Iggy. I'll do this, and then I'll go to college. I want to do make combat technology. In a way this is good, I'll have field experience to work from."

The day after graduation, Alfred enlisted to be a marine. Mathew went to culinary school on scholarship.

Arthur and Alfred wrote back and forth at least once a week, and with every letter came a batch of scones. Alfred rambled on paper as he did with spoken words. Sometimes there was a graphite sketch with the letters, done on the sly on notebook paper with a pencil during class. They were now making their way in frames down Arthur's front hall.

It was hard keeping up four letters a week during boot camp. It wasn't long before he would write his parents once a month, only Mathew and Arthur once a week. Mathew never mentioned it so they didn't know, anymore than Mathew would know that the mysterious benefactor for his scholarship was a very sly warlock.

Arthur watched, years later, as Alfred boarded the plane to Afghanistan. It wasn't until the plane had left the ground that he realized a tear trickled down his cheek.

The letters staggered randomly now, but Alfred never stopped. He told of friends, blood, laughs, combat, and everything in between. At first Arthur didn't understand what the random tally at the very bottom left corner of every letter was. A single tally just showed up a month after Alfred had left. A few weeks later another had come up, and then another. It took six months before Arthur realized they were lives Alfred had taken.

Then, abruptly, after almost a year the letters stopped. The warlock who had taken the London Blitz in stride went into a panic after a month of absolute silence, working franticly to track down the human child who had come to mean so much to him.

By the time the old warlock found him, he felt a strange, burning pain in his heart.

Arthur walked slowly through North Washington Veteran Recovery Center, almost numb. Mathew had contacted him just after he finally figured out what had happened in Afghanistan, his soft voice breaking as he pleaded with his twin's oldest friend.

A bomb had taken out Alfred's transport as he and several others were being transported back from another mission. Two died, two were badly injured. The report was that Alfred had been one of the lesser hurt, but he had a heavy level of PTSD. He had been back for a week. His parents hadn't been able to get through to him. Even Mathew, his own twin, had only gotten Alfred to look at him before his eyes slid back into nothing again.

_What will make me any different?_ wondered Arthur. _Why does Mathew seem to think I'm the only one who can help him?_

That was when he saw him. Alfred was sitting by a window, staring dully out, seeing without seeing. He was tanned from the desert sun, but it was a farmer's tan. His eyes looked dull, haunted.

"Al…Alfred?"

Nothing. Arthur hesitated, and then placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It's been a while, lad. How are you?"

A deep inhale, then a slow exhale.

"I missed you, you know. At least say hi."

"It was a kid."

Arthur almost jumped, but then sagged in relief. "What was a kid?" he asked almost absently.

"The bomber."

Arthur sobered. "I know," he said in a low voice. "I read the report."

"Why would he do that?" whispered Alfred, turning to look up at Arthur. There were tears in his eyes, agony. It went right by him that, technically, as a civilian, Arthur shouldn't have been able to get anywhere near the report.

"I don't know. Sometimes people do horrid things."

Like that time so many years ago, Arthur held the child close and let him cry. In this case, only centuries of experience in the horrors of humans kept his own tears in check. The bomb had been in the satchel of a young sheppard's son. The sheppard had slipped the bomb into his son's sack, and timed it to go off when he would be passing the transport.

When Alfred started to calm down, his breath hitching, he whispered, "He smiled at me, Iggy. As we were coming up on him he stopped, and he smiled right at me. He waved at us, and then he…he….

Arthur closed his eyes. Then he reached down, gripping Alfred's shoulders, and pushing him away to meet his eyes. "Look at me, lad."

Red-rimmed blue met icy green. Arthur delved into his power, pouring it through his eyes and hands. Alfred stilled, eyes widening and then unfocusing. The warlock purged the surface sadness, horror, and agony. He burned it away in the same manner alcohol cleans a wound. The emotions were still there, he couldn't get rid of them completely without brainwashing him outright, but they were where they could be controlled now.

"Alfred, Alfred are you all right?"

Alfred blinked rapidly, staring at him. After a minute he said, "Wait, why are you here? I didn't think they called non-family members."

Arthur smiled tightly, taking a step back. "No, but a very concerned twin does. You weren't responding to anything, not him or your parents, so he called me. Right good job he did."

Alfred smiled a little. It was a softer smile, his eyes showing genuine happiness. "Yeah, Mattie's good about that. I'll have to thank him next time he comes by. Did you pass a food court or something on your way in?"

Having punched through the mental shell-shock, Alfred was on a much faster road to recovery. He could never forget, but after a few days he was back to his old self, eyes bright and a smile on his face. He spent as much time as he could out of his room, talking and laughing and playing games with the other tenants. Everyone liked Alfred.

Despite all this, there was one thing that wasn't fixed. The doctors said there was no nerve damage, the X-ray's said there was nothing broken or damaged, but Alfred couldn't walk on his own. It was as though his feet were dead, and even though Arthur tried three different times with magic, even that couldn't fix it. The therapist said it was psychosomatic, and Arthur eventually gave up. This was one battle Alfred would have to win on his own.

Over the next month or so, he worked with a physical therapist, and got to where he could get around quite well with forearm crutches. He would still have sessions with the normal therapist, but within a month and a half he was deemed ready to start acclimating to civilian life.

Arthur made sure Alfred never knew of it, but once he learned of the situation he moved from Texas to a rural area north of D.C. Between the aid of magic and centuries of having to move at the drop of the hat, the only problem was finding a suitable house. Both parents were still in Texas, Mathew was still in school, so Arthur offered to put him up while he got back on his feet. Time was short for humans, he knew, and he was reluctant to let the boy out of his sight again.

"Listen, thanks for doing this. I really appreciate it," Alfred said, sitting in the passenger seat of Arthur's car as they drove.

"I'm happy to do it. Things got rather boring without you around." That part was more true than he had ever thought possible. "You do an old man good."

Alfred laughed. "Dude, you're not _that_ old."

_You have no idea,_ thought Arthur wryly.

"I was thinking I could start taking online courses when the semester starts next month. I mean that was half the reason I signed on, right?"

"Seems like an awful lot of trouble," murmured Arthur, glancing at the forearm crutches leaning against the door.

"Nah, I was going to anyway. I didn't find out about the whole paying for college thing until later. Mom and dad weren't crazy about it either, and I was trying to convince them."

Arthur frowned. Though he had a feeling he already knew the answer, he asked, "And just why were you so eager to join the military?"

"I wanted to be a hero, Iggy. And I was. I can't tell you about the missions, but I helped save a lot of people."

Arthur decided not to comment. Curiosity had gotten the best of him halfway through Alfred's deployment. A warlock, particularly one with centuries of experience, could get their hands on any information they pleased. He knew the identity of each and every tally mark on Alfred's letters. He was surprised that they'd put such a young sniper on those missions, but Alfred's track record spoke for itself. He was good, very good.

It was something that had had Arthur very worried, but now it baffled him. He'd been concerned Alfred would harden as almost all soldiers did, would lose that child-like cheerfulness, that easy laugh and guilelessness that had been part of why Arthur cared for him so much. He'd seen it as inevitable that it would disappear when he'd watched Alfred leave, and when Arthur had figured out just how good of a sniper Alfred really was...love was never something he'd experienced to the full effect, despite how old he was. It wasn't until he felt part of his heart break that he realized he'd finally found it.

"Hey, Iggy?"

"Yes?"

"We need to get you a gun."

Arthur glanced at him, a bit startled. "I beg your pardon?"

"Remember that time I asked you if you had any guns in your house? You said no. We need to get you one."

The warlock frowned. Of course he didn't own a gun, he had his magic for pities sake. The boy had asked him after a break-in in their neighborhood. The couple had been proudly gun-free, until they surprised the intruder when they came home early. Both had ended up dead, and as soon as Alfred found out he ran to Arthur's, demanding to know if he owned a gun. He'd thrown a fit when Arthur had said he hadn't. Honestly, if he'd single handedly sent an entire Roman legion packing when they came to his neck of the British Isles, he didn't need a gun to handle an intruder.

Not for the first time, Arthur mused over how much easier it would be to simply tell Alfred the truth. But as usual this was smothered by doubts. What would Alfred think? What if he was angry, repulsed? Worse yet, what if he wanted to leave and never come back?

"Very well. Though I'm afraid I might hit something besides the intruder if I ever need to use it."

"That's why they invented the firing range, Artie. Come on, we'll make a day of it, how's that? I'll get you a gun, we go to the range, and then we get something to eat. We just passed a McDonalds, too."

Arthur chuckled softly. It was good to have Alfred back.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 2

**Shout out to the awesome reviewer Silverwind10123!**

**I don't know when I'll be able to update next, as this next week is going to be a very busy one for me, but I'll do what I can, promise! :)**

* * *

"Alfred?"

He looked up from where he was arranging his crutches around his feet. "Yeah?"

"Why did you get a case of blanks?" asked Arthur stiffly, gripping the wheel. Warlock or no, Arthur didn't live all those centuries by being blind. His instincts had saved his life more times than he cared to count. Arthur knew when someone was planning something, and he liked to think he knew Alfred as well as he knew himself.

"You'll see."

"Alfred," said Arthur warningly, looking over at the boy. "What are you planning?"

The American just smiled. "I'll tell ya when we get to the range Iggy, promise."

For a moment Arthur contemplated using a subtle truth spell, but shook off the notion. He didn't like the idea of using his magic on Alfred, and the lad's hero complex ensured he was always good to his word. If Alfred said he would tell in due time, he would.

As Arthur pulled out of the parking lot, it occurred to him he'd never had a problem using magic on humans before. It was one of the rules the Ancients had agreed on long ago, the last time they had met as a group before going their separate ways. They were free to use and practice magic as they pleased, so long as they didn't do so where it was obvious to humans. Secrecy was top priority to a magica. Arthur had never been one to hesitate in using his magic, more than comfortable with it by this point. Flicking a spell was as easy as breathing. Particularly what was essentially a simple 'answer the next question truthfully' charm he would have used on Alfred. He'd done far worse without a second thought in the past. Why did he hesitate now? Why did he even think about it?

"Hey, Artie, you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said briskly. "Just thinking. Have you heard from Mathew recently? I'm afraid I haven't spoken with him since he first called me about you."

Alfred brightened at the mention of his brother. "Yeah, just talked to him last night. He wanted to know if we would be able to make it to the graduation."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "We?"

"Yeah, you and me."

"Why does Mathew want me here?"

"Come on, Artie, you've been around long enough. You're family in everything but name."

Arthur pursed his lips. This wasn't good, he hadn't gotten so attached to humans since the 1600's. Even then he'd known it was a mistake, and he was proven right when it had ended badly. People knew him, knew his face, his name, where he lived...normally if people so much as started staring at him to long in the street he relocated. The fast-paced and social media-run ways of modern America meant he was easily ignored, able to stay in one place longer. In recent times the twelve years he spent in the house next door to Alfred wasn't long, and everyone bought the story he'd moved to DC for work. If anyone asked he taught online English courses and wrote nonfiction works on classical English literature, though he wondered how long he would be able to keep that up with Alfred living under the same roof...

"So you gonna come?" asked Alfred, poking him in the arm.

Forcing a natural looking smile onto his face, Arthur said, "Certainly. It's the lad's big day. He got a double major, correct?"

"Yep. Cooking and business. Wants to open his own place."

"Mmm," said Arthur absently, turning off the main road.

"Look, I know you don't like guns, but I just want you to be safe. At least this way I know you can defend yourself,"

Arthur parked the car, cutting the engine. "It's not that I don't like guns, lad. I simply don't see the need."

"The world's not pretty, Artie. Trust me, there's a need."

Arthur knew that, he knew too well. He'd witnessed everything from the Spanish Inquisition to the Holocaust. The warlock had lived long enough to see humanity at its best and at its worst. It saddened him that Alfred had to know even part of what he did.

Alfred had mastered the crutches by the time he'd left the hospital, and now swung easily around to the trunk, popping the hood. Shifting his weight to the left crutch, he reached in and pulled out the 12 gauge, slinging it over his shoulder.

Arthur snatched up the bag with the rest of their recent purchases before Alfred could grab it too. He slammed the trunk shut and asked, "And just how do you plan on carrying everything?"

"Mad skills?"

The warlock rolled his eyes. Twenty five years old and Alfred still swung erratically between adult and child behavior. "Why didn't I guess? Come on, I suppose we'll have to register or some such thing before they let use shoot anything?"

"Yep," said Alfred, making his way to the front door. "An hour should be enough. If not we can add on more."

Arthur kept himself up to date on the latest weapons, in the unlikely event he should need to use them. He knew how a gun worked, but while he'd kept one on his person during times of war he'd never actually fired one. To be honest it was more a show for the humans than anything else. It was easier, faster, and cleaner to kill with magic rather than a bullet.

Recognizing his shortcoming, Arthur had stepped back and let Alfred do the talking in the gun shop. He soon realized he was well and truly out of his depth, and it occurred to him for the first time that perhaps it was time to give humans more credit as a threat. While he understood little of what the store owner and Alfred were talking about, he took a slow look around the store...and came to the conclusion that humans had finally advanced to the point of concern in more than one area. He'd been keeping a lower profile lately because of the technological advances, but it hit him that if they sent someone after him, a trained solider, someone like Alfred, he might very well be in trouble.

They had eventually left the store with a 12 gauge, a Glock, bullets for both, supplies to clean them, and the case of blanks. The Glock had a holster and extra clip, but Alfred didn't put bullets in the later.

When they were setting up at one of the outside ranges, and Alfred was loading the first clip, Arthur noticed he was putting in blanks. Frowning, he asked, "Would you mind explaining now?"

Alfred just loaded two, and pushed the clip into the Glock. "Yep." He handed it to Arthur, waiting until the warlock had a grip on the handle before saying, "Shoot me."

Arthur balked, taking a step back. "What?"

Alfred held his arms out, gesturing for Arthur to come on. "Just point and pull the trigger, Artie."

"Why the bloody hell would I do that?"

"They're blanks, Arthur."

"Answer the question, Alfred."

"I need to know you can pull that trigger no matter what. If you can't we might as well go home. You think I got blanks for kicks? They're useless, that's the point."

Arthur set his jaw, staring hard at Alfred. "Why? Why do you need this proof?"

"It'll make me feel better. Some people can't do it and I want to make sure you're not one of them. Either shoot me or we're going home."

The last thing Arthur ever wanted to do was hurt Alfred. But he'd seen the box, seen him load the blanks into the gun. That didn't make it any easier. Still, he didn't like the idea of Alfred thinking he didn't have the guts to kill. He'd done it before after all, and worse.

Eyes hard, he lifted the gun, pointed the barrel at Alfred's chest, and pulled the trigger. The gun went off, but Alfred didn't even flinch. He gave a grim smile as Arthur lowered the weapon.

"Sorry, but I had to know."

Arthur didn't comment. Rather he walked back over to the table and set the gun down. Alfred turned back to it, removing the clip and taking out the remaining blank. As he worked the warlock cleared his throat, deciding he should indicate there were no hard feelings.

Unsure of how to do this, Arthur just noted, "I expected you to buy more bullets."

"Mmm? Oh, yeah. I'm getting the supplies to make them shipped to the house."

Arthur blinked at him. "You make your own bullets?" Though he did admit it might not be that much different from making your own arrows...

"Yeah. It's all about the gunpowder. This way you can make sure you get the same number of grains in each bullet. Less variation, better accuracy."

Alfred pushed the clip into the Glock, setting it aside. He grabbed two pairs of earplugs, handing one set to Arthur. "You might want these."

Arthur jammed the plugs into the ears, not for the first time marveling over what Alfred got him to agree to. Honestly, if any of his brothers saw him practicing human weapons they'd never let him hear the end of it. All these years and they still loved to tease him. Hell, they'd let him have it for getting remotely attached to Alfred.

Alfred handed him the Glock, but after Arthur reached out to take it the human half shuffled half hobbled unsteadily around him.

"Alfred!" protested Arthur, starting to turn after him. "At least keep a crutch."

"I'm fine, so long as I don't do it a lot," muttered Alfred. He reached around, putting his hands over Arthur's, maneuvering them on the gun. "Left hand over the right...keep your hand away from the back of the barrel. It's an automatic, and if your hand's there when it reloads the slide burns like hell. Use your left hand to brace your right, and remember to keep your finger outside the trigger guard until you're about to fire."

Arthur listened attentively, not one to waste potentially useful information. Apparently had only put his hand low enough on the handle last time by luck. That said, half of his brain was entirely focused on just how close Alfred was. When had he changed his cologne? It was certainly a change for the better. Arthur suddenly felt dwarfed by the human, marveling in how he was able to stand directly behind him and still reach both arms around the warlock to manipulate his hands with ease. Since when had that scrawny kid been so...big?

"Brace your legs but don't go stiff. Relax a bit, Iggy. Okay, aim...don't close an eye, leave 'em both open. See how there's two sights when you do that? Get what you want to hit between them, and focus on it. Just relax, don't pull the trigger till you're ready. Don't forget the kick."

_Relax? How the bloody hell am I supposed to relax?_ wondered Arthur. Alfred hadn't moved back much, just taken his arms from around him to let Alfred adjust himself. While he could stand, a little shuffling was the limit of what he could do without crutches.

Arthur managed to pry his mind away from their close proximity, taking a slow, deep breath. As he let it out, he focused on the target, leaving the small sight notch on the barrel of the gun as two blurred notches on either side. Taking another breath, he centered it on the middle of the target, and curled his finger around the trigger.

The gun went off with a bang that startled him slightly, but it wasn't as bad as he'd anticipated. Nor was the kick for that matter, though both were stronger than it had been with the blank. Arthur blinked several times, and then looked at the target. He felt pleasantly surprised to see the hole just six inches to the left of the red center. Honestly he hadn't anticipated to even hit the target, thinking it would be similar to that one time six centuries ago he'd tried his hand at the bow and arrow. He'd given up after emptying a quiver and only managing to graze the target.

Alfred clapped him on the shoulder. "All right, Iggy! That's pretty good for your first time. Try again, see if you can get it a little closer."

Arthur nodded, brining the gun up again. He took a breath, aimed, and fired. This time he tried to pull to the right to compensate, but the hole was eight inches to the right of the target center. Brow furrowing, Arthur tried again. This time he hit the edge of the target, but rather than lower the gun like before he fired again. The bullet went through the upper left of the red center.

Arthur lowered the Glock, smiling, pleased with himself. This was the best luck he'd ever had with a human weapon.

Alfred laughed, hugging him from behind. "Are you sure you haven't done this before? First time I went shooting it took me a whole clip before I hit the center ring."

Arthur, thankful Alfred was behind him so as to miss the blush rising in his face, said, "I'm afraid not. This would be the first time I pulled the trigger."

"You wanna finish the clip or do you wanna try the 12 gauge?"

"I'd like to try the other one, if you don't mind." Even if he never actually used them, Arthur had to admit he was rather enjoying himself. It was nice to actually have success with a human weapon for a change. And if Alfred directed him from behind as he had with the handgun, well he would hardly complain.

The warlock hovered while trying not to look like he was doing so as Alfred half lurched half hobbled back to the table, almost falling in the process. He set down the Glock and picked up the 12 gauge, loading the charge before turning back to Arthur.

"This one's got a little more kick," he said, carefully shuffling back over.

Arthur hovered, wincing with every step. After it felt like Alfred was about to fall on his face with a loaded gun in hand he blurted, "Could you please at least use one crutch? You're going to fall."

"Am not," said Alfred, waving it off. "Come on, you wanna try it or not?"

Arthur sighed wearily, but came to stand where he had before. He took the 12 gauge, one hand on the pump and the other by the trigger.

"Uh...on second thought can you hand them to me? It's a shotgun, shorter range."

The warlock rolled his eyes again, something he'd picked up from Alfred during his teenage years, and went to fetch the crutches. Once he had them Alfred swung closer, moving over to a different target. Arthur was quite pleased when he resumed his position at his back, reaching around to help brace the butt of the weapon against his shoulder.

"Make sure you plant it good. If you don't do it right you'll end up bruised for a week. Longer sight, same deal. Lock and load, Artie."

Arthur did as he was bid, feeling a bit of satisfaction as he did so. He tilted his head slightly, aiming down the long barrel. This time he did it so the edge of the barrel lined up with the top rim of the target circle, brow furrowed in concentration. He breathed in, and as he let out he pulled the trigger.

As the gun went off Arthur found himself knocked back. Not enough to make him take a step, but enough for his shoulders to hit Alfred's chest. Fortunately he'd already regripped the crutches, so he didn't fall, but Arthur still turned to blurt, "Sorry!"

Alfred just grinned. "Told ya the kick was worse. Not too shabby."

Arthur turned back to the target, and blinked. There was a spread of tiny holes that had made a gap the size of a softball in the target, half of which was in the lower half of the center circle. Cracking a smile, Arthur looked down at the shotgun. It had taken a millennia or so but the humans had made a weapon he actually took pleasure in using.

"It's still got another charge. Wanna try again?"

Arthur nodded, resuming his stance. He made sure he braced the butt in the same spot on his shoulder, bringing the barrel up. This time he brought it up several inches on the target, braced for the kick, and pulled the trigger.

This time he was jolted back a little, not enough to hit Alfred. The spread was on level with the center, but it was a bit to the right this time. Not dead center, but close enough for Arthur to feel a surge of pride.

"All right, Iggy!" said Alfred, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're good."

Turning back around, he said simply, "I have a good teacher."

Alfred grinned. "We still got time, how about the Glock again? See how many hit the bull's-eye."

* * *

Two hours, two clips, and a trip to McDonalds later, Arthur was helping Alfred to bring the gear inside. "Remind me just where you plan to put all this?" he asked, rolling his right shoulder. It hadn't hurt that much at the time, and according to Alfred it could have been a lot worse, but he was still a little sore.

"The Glock is for you, it stays in your room," said Alfred. "I wanted to keep the 12 gauge downstairs."

Arthur frowned. "What about you?"

Alfred grinned. "What, you thought _all_ that stuff I lugged in was clothes and video games? Trust me Artie, I'm covered."

The warlock decided not to ask. He'd dealt with intruders in the past, if only a few, and always on his own. He worried about what would happen if someone tried to get in now, with Alfred here. Not for Alfred, of course, but the intruder. He liked to interrogate them before he disposed of them, to ensure they didn't know anything about his identity. Knowing Alfred, on the off chance he missed and they were wounded rather than killed, he'd want to give them to the police. That Arthur wouldn't be able to allow.

"Hey, Artie?"

Arthur snapped out of his thoughts, turning to ask, "Yes?"

"You want the fish or the spaghetti tonight?" asked Alfred. Judging by the patient look on his face this wasn't the first time he'd asked.

"Right, sorry. Fish is fine."

Alfred had decided some years back that the only thing Arthur could cook were things like scones and sandwiches. Now that he was living in Arthur's house, he'd decided to take over the kitchen partly so he wouldn't starve, partly as a way to pay Arthur back since the warlock refused any sort of rent money.

Arthur watched him swing his way down the hall with practiced ease, congratulating himself not for the first time for going with a single story farmhouse. It wasn't quite as classic as a two story, but it was easier for Alfred to get around. Plus the attic was a narrow staircase away, the perfect spot for his new workroom.

_Still, I doubt his curiosity has dulled any,_ thought Arthur as he drifted into the kitchen. _Unless we move within the next few months or I can think of a deterrent he'll go up there sooner or later. Would it be so bad if he did?_

As Arthur began to brew some tea, he mused that Alfred wasn't completely devoid of signs of interest. He knew for a fact that one did not have to take that position in order to teach someone how to use a gun. No doubt if Arthur asked the boy would say standing that close was to keep himself from falling.

"I still don't believe you've never used a gun before," said Alfred as he swung into the kitchen. As he pulled fish from the freezer, setting it out to defrost he continued, "The way you were acting before I could have sworn you'd never gone near them. I mean you're how old and you've never even handled them before?"

Arthur gave a faint shrug, heart suddenly beating heavily in his chest. He'd thought about this for years but he never actually went near the actual topic of his age. Alfred had gone from a child to a man, and he still didn't look like he'd aged a day. If Arthur didn't distract him he had no doubt Alfred would blurt out that one question, but the warlock couldn't bring himself to open his mouth to do it.

The kettle began to whistle, and Arthur took it off the stove. As he poured the hot water over a tea bag Alfred asked, "Say, how old are you anyway?"

Arthur set the kettle down, not looking up. "That's hardly an appropriate question, lad."

"Yeah, for a girl. You're a guy. Seriously, how old are you Arthur?"

The warlock stared down into the darkening water. Alfred only used his actual name when he was being serious. Though his chest felt heavy, he couldn't bring himself to lift his hands or mouth a spell.

Instead, Arthur heard himself saying, "I don't know."

Alfred frowned. "What do you mean you don't know?"

The warlock lifted his head, staring across the kitchen island at Alfred. The human was frowning, though it was confused rather than upset or wary.

"It's been a while since I've counted, lad." There were few times in his life where Arthur actually felt his age. It was one of the reasons he'd stopped counting in the first place. What was wrong with him? Until now the idea of lying hadn't been a problem, now the idea of spinning a tale for Alfred twisted his chest.

"What's to count? Just take what year you were born and-

"I can count backwards easy enough, lad," said Arthur, a bit sharper than he'd intended. Taking a deep breath he said, "Alfred, don't ask questions of me unless you want to know the truth. I don't think...I lie enough. It comes with being what I am. But I don't think I can bring myself to lie to you anymore." Lifting his face to meet Alfred's eyes, he said, "Only ask me questions you're sure you want to know the answer to."

Alfred was quiet for a long minute, and then asked in an even voice, "What have you lied about so far, Arthur."

"To you?"

"Yes."

Arthur thought about this. He hadn't actually lied to Alfred that much compared to other people. It occurred to him he'd been subconsciously avoiding it for some time. "I told you I taught online classes. I don't. I do write, but I never publish anything."

"Wait, so what do you do for work?"

"I don't work."

"Then where does all this money come from?"

"Alchemy."

Alfred stared at him for a minute, then repeated, "Alchemy?"

Arthur nodded. "It's simple, really. Though to be honest most of what I have these days comes from stocks. Much easier for me, I must say."

"Let's go back to the alchemy part. How do you do that?"

"Magic, lad," said Arthur in a low voice.

"You expect me to believe you have...

He went quiet as Arthur held his hand palm up, letting a few sparks of his power escape through his fingers. He knew from experience that his eyes would shimmer as he did it, sparks of light that matched his irises in color lighting them up.

As the lights faded Alfred asked slowly, "So what does that make you? A wizard?"

"A warlock," answered Arthur in a low voice.

"You said 'these days'. Be honest with me, Arthur, how old are you?"

The warlock cracked a grim smile. "I honestly don't know, love. I was about twenty five summers when the Romans decided they'd pillage my family's farm. That was about 50 AD, according to historians. I suppose that puts me around-

"You're nineteen hundred and ninety years old," breathed Alfred, stumbling back a step.

Arthur watched him sadly. Math had always been his strong suit. "I suppose. Give or take a few years. I'm hardly the oldest though, believe me."

"There's more of you?"

"Yes."

"Some are older?"

"Five, that I know of. Possibly seven. I'm afraid I haven't looked into it very much."

"Who are they, then? Are they like you?"

"Yes, they'd have to be. Four are my elder brothers. The fifth is a Chinese man I met sometime back."

"Okay, I'll ask about the brothers in a minute. I'll ask the big question now: how the hell are you nineteen hundred and ninety years old?"

"Because once we reach maturity my kind can't die by mortal means."

Alfred lurched over to the table, easing himself into the nearest chair. After slowly propping his crutches against the wall he asked, "Mortal means?"

"Time. Sickness. Blade. Bullet."

"So if I shoot you, you won't die?"

"It'll hurt like hell if memory serves, but no I won't die."

"You've been shot before?"

"Yes, quite a few times, but not recently."

"What about if I snapped your neck?"

Arthur shook his head. "Afraid not. You could try if you wish, if you don't believe me."

Alfred gave him a long look. "Maybe. How can you die? I mean I'm not sure I'm buying this whole immortal thing, but you've only told me what won't kill you."

"There are a few things that will kill me. The one thing they all have in common is magic. Beings of magic can only be slain by magic, it's an ancient law as true as gravity."

Alfred was quiet for a long minute, not really looking at Arthur. The warlock was almost convinced the human was about to walk away when he lifted his head and asked, "Why are you telling me?"

Arthur hesitated, "I'm sorry, love, I don't understand-

"You're telling me right now that you're an immortal warlock," said Alfred, eyes burning. Arthur wasn't looking into the face of the boy next-door anymore, he was looking into the face of a fully fledged man, a Marine sniper. "I'm not going to shoot you, but if I'm going to believe you, I need you to tell me why. Why me? Why now? If you're as old as you say, how many people have you told before? What makes me so damn special after nearly twenty centuries of humans? What am I, some human pet?"

"No!" snapped Arthur, drawing himself up. "Don't you dare imply things you know nothing about. I have never told anyone, understand? The only people who have ever known what I am are those of my own kind. I never even owned a bloody cat."

"So why me?" asked Alfred, getting to his feet, one hand braced on the table. "Huh? Why are you telling me? If you're that old you could have dodged the question. Hell, I'll bet you've done it before. So why now? Why me?"

"I've never told anyone because I've never been stupid enough to fall in love with a human!"

Alfred stilled, eyes widening. "You...what?"

Arthur paced up and down his side of the kitchen, jamming his hands through his already messy hair. "You want to know why you? I don't know, I'd like to know that answer myself love. I've never gotten so close to anyone before for just this reason. I know what happens to humans, I've seen twenty centuries of it. If life allows it you grow old and die, wither away while I still look like _this._ There are so many sicknesses that can steal a human's life away, so many weapons that can slaughter you. Do you think I'd get close to someone just to see that happen over and over? Why do you think I didn't want you to enlist? The first human in all these years I've cared for, and you send yourself to a bloody war."

Alfred was quiet for a minute, and then slowly lowered himself back down into the chair. He stared across the kitchen at Arthur, blue eyes solemn. The warlock expected a number of things, but when Alfred spoke it wasn't any of them. In a voice as even and solemn as his eyes he said, "You were lonely, Arthur."

"What?"

"Twenty centuries and you've never gotten attached to anyone? I'm no good with this stuff, but even I can tell you that you were lonely. Either that or you're lying, you cared about someone a few times and they died, just like you said."

"No," said Arthur grimly, leaning back against the counter. "I saw it happen, I didn't want that for myself, love."

"You called me human. I'm guessing you don't see yourself as one, but you are. Just because you can use magic and you don't die easy doesn't mean you're not human."

"When you've seen what I've seen, done what I've done, you wouldn't call yourself human either love," said Arthur tiredly.

Alfred seemed to consider this, and said, "I'm not going to ask what you've seen, and I'm not going to ask what you've done. You told me that you loved me. If you're human enough to love, you're human enough for me to love you back."

Arthur looked at him sharply.

Alfred cracked a smile. "The only reason I haven't kissed you yet is because I thought you were the mortal Arthur Kirkland who moved next-door before I was born. By the way, is Kirkland your real last name?"

"No, I didn't really have one. It's my favorite alias. Arthur was the name my mother gave me, though."

Alfred chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back. "Whoo, an immortal warlock. Damn I sure can pick 'em."

Arthur snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, lad. If I can die I'm not immortal."

"You know what I mean," said Alfred, but then he frowned. "You do realize I'm not though, right?"

Arthur hesitated. "Listen, love, there's a spell. It's not something that's easy or takes a short time to work, but I could do it. Others, other Magica have used it before. I'm not the first to fall in love with a human, Alfred. I can make you like me. I can make you...semi-immortal."

Alfred sat up. "Wait, seriously? You can do that?"

"Yes. It's hardly widespread knowledge, believe me, but I didn't spend twenty centuries twiddling my thumbs as it were."

Alfred cracked a grin at that. 'Twiddling my thumbs' was one of the phrases Arthur had picked up from him. Then he sobered, looking away. "I dunno. I mean don't get me wrong, it sounds awesome, but...if it was just me I'd say yes. But I don't think I can leave Maddie. What you said, about watching people get old while you stay the same, I don't think I could do that."

Of all the scenarios Arthur had played out in his mind since Alfred had left for boot camp, this had been one of them. He'd seen the boys as they grew up, he knew what Mathew meant to Alfred. It didn't make his heart hurt any less.

"I could do it for you both," he started, but Alfred was shaking his head.

"No, Artie. I can't ask either of you to do that. Now if you have any, what'd you call yourself, a Magica? If you have any Magica buddies that need a boyfriend we could talk. I...yeah." He sighed, leaning back and propping one foot in one of the other chairs. "How about we put a pin in that? I'm still digesting the fact that the guy I've had a crush on since I discovered hormones is a millennia-old warlock."

"Well, I- what?" Arthur stared at him, baffled. "You've had a crush on me _how long?"_ He knew it was probably a bit rude to be this incredulous, but he'd always considered it wishful thinking Alfred might return his feelings.

Alfred considered this. "I think puberty kicked in the summer after eighth grade, so I'd say freshmen year. I figured it'd go away, but it didn't." He shrugged. "Like I said, I thought you were my human, way-too-old-for-me neighbor. You were already my friend, I wasn't going to gamble that."

Arthur stared at him. Something started to bubble up inside of him, starting in his stomach and slowly working its way up his throat and into his mouth. A giggle escaped his lips moments before it developed into outright laughter. He clamped a hand over his mouth to try and smother them, with no luck.

"Hey, what's so funny?" demanded Alfred, grabbing his crutches and getting to his feet.

Arthur doubled over, shaking his head as he laughed all the harder. He couldn't even speak anymore, and the laughter just kept coming. He looked up at Alfred just in time to jerk backwards, trying to avoid his lurching tackle.

The last minute movement through them both off balance, and as Alfred's arms went around his shoulders they both went down. Arthur, despite landing hard on his back, still couldn't stop laughing. What was wrong with him?

"Iggy, you are not getting up until you tell me why you're laughing," stated Alfred.

Arthur realized he was lying beneath Alfred, the American's hands on either side of his shoulders, knees braced on either side of his hips. The laugher finally subsided enough for him to gasp for air and manage speech again. "I'm sorry, love. Oh gods I can't remember the last time I laughed like that."

"Maybe that's why you needed it so bad. Laugher is healthy, you know. Now seriously, what got you started?"

Arthur just looked up at Alfred, and smiled. "I'm laughing because I can't believe it. I hoped you would accept what I am, I hoped you wouldn't want anything else to do with me. I had hope in everything if I ever did tell you the truth, love. _Except_ that you would ever feel the same way."

"That was really dumb, Artie."

With that, Alfred lowered his head, planting a firm kiss on Arthur's mouth. Arthur froze for a moment, stunned, but then let himself relax. His eyes slid closed, and he melted into the kiss.

* * *

Arthur liked to think of himself as a realist. Most people called him a pessimist, and no one who knew him would even consider calling him an optimist. That said, Arthur would argue that he simply believed in being honest about situations.

Now, for example, he knew he should be happy. Not only had Alfred admitted to returning his feelings, but he'd _kissed_ him. It was then Arthur knew that the boy hadn't been quite as virtuous as he'd let on during high school. He was much too good a kisser in the warlock's opinion, though it was hardly a complaint.

Once Alfred let him off the floor, he'd started pelting him with questions. One of these was to see Arthur's workroom. Not one deny the lad something, Arthur led the way to the attic. As he did, he shot down the more or less ridicules questions Alfred threw at his back.

"No, I've never owned a black cat."

"No, I've never ridden a broomstick."

"You only chant over a caldron if you're trying to enchant a voodoo doll, and it is most certainly _not_ 'bubble-bubble, toil and trouble'."

"What about a wand? You gotta have a wand, right?"

"No, I don't have a wand. It serves no purpose."

"What about one of those wizard staffs with a big crystal on top?"

Arthur stopped at the top of the stairs, heaving a weary sigh. Why he hadn't seen this coming he had no idea. "Yes, but only for when I work big spells. Which I haven't in some time. Now if I show you, you have to promise not to touch everything in sight. I've had this workroom so long everything has magic in it."

"You got it, Artie," said Alfred, a wide grin still on his face.

The warlock found himself fighting not to return the expression, but before he could he turned and opened the door.

The workshop itself wasn't a room in a house, per say. He needed one in order to access it, but he'd been essentially moving around the same workshop for the last eighteen hundred years. The spell had been a gift from Kiku when they had first met, part of a gift exchange to initiate a friendship. Arthur, in turn, had given the Japanese Magica a spell crystal. It was one of the few substances that could contain and preserve any decent amount of magic. At the time, it was Arthur's most prized possession because it held so much magic, enough to complete what was known as the Transformation spell. That particular spell was the one Arthur had mentioned to Alfred, and under normal circumstances would put a constant drain on the warlock for six months, leaving them virtually helpless. While the spell would still take six months, it would drain the crystal rather than the warlock. It had been some time later that Arthur had found out Kiku had used the crystal to Transform a Greek man.

"Come on, Iggy. What 'cha waiting for?"

Arthur sighed. "Be patient, love," he scolded, even as he opened the door.

The warlock stepped inside and stepped aside for Alfred. He swung into the room, and then stopped, mouth open. Arthur tried not to feel too pleased with himself. He never let anyone into his workroom, no one. Privacy was something he valued as much on principle as he did for secrecy's sake. Though it had to be said he quite enjoyed the look of wonder on Alfred's face.

The room itself was taken from the top tower of a castle Arthur had resided in for a decade or so before the locals became suspicious. It was circular, roughly fifty feet in diameter, and had a ceiling that came to a peek two stories above their heads. Much of the walls were lined with books, potions, and crystals. Arthur believed there was no such thing as being too prepared, and since seeing the success of the crystal he'd given to Kiku had taken to siphoning off his little-used magic to stow away over the years. He now had enough to use the Transformation spell a hundred times over.

Tables, ranging from the completely wooden ones that had been in the original room to the plastic and metal folding tables of the modern day, made the floor space a slightly difficult space to navigate. The tables themselves were piled high with books, papers, parchment, a few caldrons and beakers, and various experiments Arthur had recently been conducting. The rectangular window was one of the few things that changed, more or less. It was still the same size in the same place, but whatever he saw out of it would depict whatever was really outside his current house. He'd watched everything from wars to the Renaissance to Alfred playing baseball with the neighborhood kids through that window.

When Arthur looked back at Alfred, he found the lad staring up at the ceiling, mouth still open. Arthur followed his gaze, and chuckled softly. Witch lights floated lazily around the ceiling's peek, providing warm golden light for the whole space. The warlock chuckled, remembering how brilliant he'd felt when he'd first put them up there. When the only other light source was fire, he'd thought himself high and mighty for lighting his space with them.

"They're called witch lights, love."

"How'd you do that?"

"Look."

Alfred tore his eyes away from the ceiling to look at Arthur. The warlock held out a hand, palm up. It was a simple spell that required little magic, so he didn't even need to speak to conjure a floating yellow ball. He watched Alfred's eyes grow wide as it formed, smiling softly at the sight. He hadn't given any thought to the spell since he'd first mastered it at the early age of ten summers. At the time he'd been so proud, as his brothers had all been teenagers before they'd managed it. Yet Alfred was staring at it with open wonder, hand actually reaching out before he stopped himself.

"It won't bite," said Arthur, chuckling gently. "It might feel a bit warm though, if you leave it for a while, like the ones up there."

Slowly, hesitantly, Alfred stepped forward and lightly touched the golden ball. The light didn't waver, so he stroked it, the look of wonder still on his face. "That's amazing, Iggy. All of this is amazing."

When he pulled his hand away Arthur extinguished the light. "I'm glad you think so, love. I must say, it goes against the grain to show someone. You wouldn't believe the trouble I went through to keep my brothers out of here."

"Oh yeah! That was one of my questions, I want to know about your brothers." Alfred's attention immediately returned to Arthur, though the warlock grimaced.

"They're irritating and if you're lucky it will be some time before you meet them."

"Come on, Artie. They're your brothers, your family. You can't-

"I do not share the same relationship you have with Mathew. My brothers and I don't get along. We never have."

"Why not? If you're this old shouldn't you have figured something out by now?"

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, musing off handedly that it must be particularly messy today. "The way it works with Magica, back when we were still being born, is that with every child a couple has the more powerful the child will be. I have four elder brothers, lad. Scott is the oldest, but he's the weakest. Twins are usually more powerful, but in this case they're not. William has enough power on his own to just barely beat them. I'm even more powerful than him. I was the runt of the litter, the child that my parents were convinced would die within a week after birth. Look at me, lad. How do you think they took to their runt of a brother being more powerful than all of them?"

Alfred was frowning. "Yeah, I guess. But I thought that stuff worked itself out when you got older."

Arthur sighed. "No, lad. Not when you're essentially immortal, and not when you're among the last of your kind. Every time we encounter each other we fight, we argue. I avoid them as much as I can."

"How long as it been since you've seen them?"

"The last I saw any of my brothers was in the eighteen forties. The twins had gotten caught up in that mess in Ireland. If I see any of them again it will be too soon."

Alfred was frowning, obviously not happy with this answer, but Arthur wasn't having any of it.

"Find a new topic, please."

The lad pouted, but after a minute asked, "So do you think I'll ever meet any of the other Magica?"

Arthur smiled wryly. "The last I saw any of my own kind was when I last saw my brothers, lad. I have isolated myself, and seeing as many of them have the same mentality as I there is no reason for them to sniff me out. If I've managed to avoid them for this long, I doubt you'll ever meet any of them."

* * *

**Please Review! They are the fuel for updates people!  
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	4. Chapter 3

**Shout out to Silverwind10123!**

**Yes, I know it's been a while, don't kill me. In my defense I've been very busy in these last few days, and this is as soon as I was able to update. Next week I should be able to update sooner. (I hope :P )**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Arthur could honestly say he was happier with Alfred knowing the truth. For one he didn't have to lie anymore, didn't have to avoid or hide his magic. He was still under fire from the occasional outburst of questions, but Alfred seemed to be remarkably accepting about the whole thing.

A few days passed, and they received the formal invitation to Mathew's graduation. Arthur was reading it over when Alfred asked in a low voice, "Please don't hate him."

The warlock looked up, a little surprised. "Of course not. I couldn't if I wanted to. He means too much to you, love, I know that."

The thought had crossed his mind, but he'd immediately rejected it. Yes Alfred was refusing to let him use the Transformation spell because of Mathew, but he hadn't watched the boys all those years for nothing. The bond between them was strong, he knew it would break Alfred's heart if anything happened to Mathew.

It was the one dark point as far as Arthur was concerned. He'd decided not to bring it up again for the time being. Until circumstances changed, Alfred would not be joining him in immortality. It was a paradox of sorts, he was used to waiting and normally doing so caused him no concern, but there was only so much time Alfred had.

Arthur discovered one of his new pleasures in life was kissing, something he'd never given much thought to before. Then again, Alfred either hadn't been born or he was off limits. The warlock was pleased by the fact that the lad seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. At the five day mark that was as far as they'd gotten, though Arthur was hardly complaining.

Five days after Arthur had revealed his longest held secret, he was perched on the counter while Alfred made dinner. Well, he'd originally been leaning against the counter, but Alfred had decided to make use of the wait time it would take for the water to boil. Now Arthur was seated on the counter, legs dangling on either side of Alfred's waist, one hand running through his hair while the other clutched the back of the lads t-shirt. He found his back arching slightly as a hand slipped under the back of his shirt, enjoying the sensation as its partner cupped the base of his skull. It wasn't hungry or heated, not this time at least. The kiss was slow and lingering and thorough and he was most defiantly enjoying himself.

The moment was shattered when the phone went off, and Arthur groaned. Alfred made a similar sound, but rather than reach for the landline he migrated to Arthur's neck. The hand under his shirt started kneading the muscles in the small of his back, and he moaned softly before gasping, "Aren't you going to get that?"

"Ignore," rasped Alfred, right before he started sucking teasingly at Arthur's jugular.

The warlock groaned, both from irritation and pleasure. The landline was more of a prop than anything else, but as much as he was enjoying the moment he wanted the irritating ringing to stop. Trying to hold as still as possible, he reached a hand out towards the phone, summoning it from its cradle. The handset flew across the room to land neatly in his hand.

"Probably just a telemarketer," grumbled Alfred.

Mentally cursing said telemarketer, Arthur hit the green answer button. "What?" he demanded, hoping he didn't sound as out of breath as he thought he did.

No answer. A few seconds later the dial tone buzzed. Arthur frowned, staring at the handset.

"Prank caller," supplied Alfred, finally pulling back.

Slowly, the warlock ended the call and set the handset on the counter. He braced his hands on Alfred's shoulders, and the lad obediently shuffled to the side so he could get down. "What's wrong?"

"Probably nothing," said Arthur, going to the back door. "I'll be back in a view minutes, love. I want to check the boundaries." He glanced at the pot on the stove, and immediately the lid began to rattle as the water came to a raging boil.

"Arthur, what's going on?"

Taking his jacket from one of the hooks, Arthur set about stuffing his arms into it. "Like I said, probably nothing, it's just a feeling really. I've found it's best not to ignore even that. I'll be back before it's ready, love."

"I'll go with you," said Alfred, grabbing his crutches.

Arthur zipped up the jacket. "Nonsense. Finish dinner, love, I won't be long."

He hurried out before Alfred could protest. Arthur knew it bugged him, not being able to be the hero, but then Arthur didn't get a bad feeling from just anything. The last time he'd felt this way was moments before the Titanic hit an iceberg. (Not the wisest transport choice he'd ever made, to say the least.)

Once he was outside Arthur brought a witch light to life, having it follow him at shoulder height as he went to check the boundaries of the property he'd bought. As with every new living place he acquired, Arthur had taken the time to ward the parameter. Humans wouldn't notice it, nor would it affect them, unless he wished it to. There were a few occasions in history where this was so, but in recent times he hadn't felt the need. If a Magica tried to cross, it would stop them in their tracks and alert him to their presence. He hadn't felt anything, but he still wanted to check. Now of all times he could hardly afford to be careless.

Arthur walked down the driveway to where it met the road, and turned to walk alongside it for a stretch. He followed the ward around the property at a steady pace, taking his time to make sure it hadn't been tampered with. The wind whistled around him, the fresh chill of fall plucking at his coat, though he barely felt it. Even if he hadn't lived in colder places, he was focused on his work.

Alfred was testing the sauce for the spaghetti when he came in, sticking his finger into his mouth. He nodded to himself, satisfied, and then looked up at Arthur. "Well?"

"Nothing," said the warlock, shrugging off his coat. "It hadn't been tampered with."

The human didn't comment. When he moved over to the refrigerator, keeping one hand braced on a counter top as he did so, Arthur noticed a handgun in his waistband. He knew for a fact that it hadn't been there before.

Arthur shook his head slightly, and went to wash his hands. As silly as Alfred could be sometimes, it could be hard to remember he was a fully trained Marine.

The rest of the night passed normally enough, no more phone calls and no alerts from the ward. Arthur had to force himself to relax, trying to shake it off. He hadn't lived here for very long, and even if he had why would any of the other Magica want to find him? They hadn't in decades, and if there was a stir in the magic world he hadn't felt it.

Arthur wasn't sure how long he laid in bed, all he knew was that when he finally fell asleep, he didn't stay that way long.

The warlock bolted upright in bed, gasping for air. The ward, someone was at the ward. He glanced at the clock, and then quietly slipped from his bed. It was just passed one in the morning, no doubt Alfred would be out cold. It was just as well, Arthur didn't fancy the idea of him meeting potentially dangerous Magica.

Calmly he dressed himself, tugging on the first pair of pants his hands found and pulling a tunic over his head. Why rush? His wards were strong, durable. Even Yao struggled to break them.

Arthur made it halfway to the back door before he stumbled, bracing a hand on the wall as he gasped. _They broke through,_ he thought wildly. _How did they break through?_

There were a few warlocks who might could break through his ward, but all would need far more time to do it. No...there was one whose specialty was wards, be it constructing them or getting through them. But he had the least reason to be here, Arthur knew. The warlock prized his neutrality above all else, second only to his sister.

Now angry as well as defensive, Arthur hurried through the kitchen and unlocked the back door. He grabbed his coat, shoving his arms into it as he pushed through the screen door. As soon as he was down the porch steps Arthur threw his arms out, sending a light wave of power out around him. It had a radar effect, and his attention snapped to the crop of trees that marked the western border as it hit a large magic source.

"Show yourself, Vash!" he commanded, voice booming across the space.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up when a cheerful voice that most defiantly did not belong to Vash said, "Is this how you treat all of your guests, Arthur? It's not very nice."

"What are you doing here, Braginski? Where's Vash?"

"He is very good at the hiding, don't you think?"

Arthur stiffened. Damn it all, he of all people knew that! Vash might value his neutrality, but when he decided to engage he didn't hold back.

The warlock turned, trying to keep both Magica in the same line of vision. Well, generally speaking. There were clouds blocking the moon tonight and they had yet to put up witch lights. Until they decided to, Arthur would have the home field advantage if nothing else.

"What are you doing here?" he asked coldly.

"You are coming with us, Arthur. One way or the other," said Vash.

Arthur tensed, about to send out a freezing spell in an attempt to slow them down, but paused when he heard a thump and a grunt. It was soon followed by a sharp _crack_. The warlock stiffened. He knew that sound...

"Vash? What are you doing?" When Ivan didn't get an answer, he sighed. "Fine. I win. Looks like I get to be breaking the bones after all."

"Arthur, lights!"

In a heartbeat a dozen large witch lights lit the yard. Arthur blinked rapidly, searching desperately for Alfred before his mouth fell open in shock. He wanted to shout at Alfred to get away, to intervene and separate the lad from Ivan...but he was too stunned to bring himself to do it.

It wasn't until later he realized that Alfred had been able to match the Russian's strength. Ivan was six foot six and massively strong, a walking terror when he wielded his favorite weapon, a pipe. Skulls caved in and cement cracked on impact, anyone who had seen Ivan in action knew it. But not only had Alfred grabbed the weapon, he was successfully holding his own.

No, none of that really registered with Arthur until later. Now, as he stared at Alfred, all he could think was, _He's walking! He's on his feet, he's standing on his own!_

Alfred stood braced in the grass, gritting his teeth as he gripped the pipe with both hands. He was barefoot, clad only in sweatpants and a t-shit, but the 12-gauge was slung over his back, and a snarl of fury contorted his face.

Ivan, who held the pipe in a similar grip as he fought to overcome the mortal, had a mildly surprised look was on his face. "Ah, so you have a pet, Arthur?"

Before Arthur could speak, Alfred growled. His knees buckled, and when Ivan was momentarily off balance Alfred twisted around, sweeping one leg low, knocking the Russian Magica flat on his back. In the same motion he wrench the pipe away, delivering a roundhouse blow on Ivan's skull as he went down. No sooner had Ivan crashed to earth, though, then Alfred dropped the pipe and brought around the 12-gauge. He fired both charges straight into the warlocks chest.

Barely breathing hard, Alfred stumbled a few paces away from Ivan, turning to look worriedly at Arthur. "You okay?"

Arthur realized his mouth was hanging open. He snapped it shut and blurted, "Alfred, you're standing!"

The boy glanced briefly down at himself, and then started walking towards Arthur. "Seriously, I didn't wake up until you left the house. What did they do?"

"Interesting."

Both turned, and Arthur stiffened as he saw Vash slowly getting to his feet. The Swiss warlock braced the heel of one hand against his neck, casually popping his snapped neck back into place.

"Damn," breathed Alfred. "You weren't kidding."

Vash rolled his shoulders, and Arthur winced as both popped back into their sockets. The Swiss regarded Alfred with something like respect. "I cannot remember the last time a mortal got the drop on me. Do not expect to claim the same honor a second time."

"Yes, we did not know of the guard dog."

Alfred swung around as Ivan sat up, skin reforming over his wounds beneath the gaping holes in his trench coat. "Arthur?" he asked warily, taking slow steps back until he was by the warlocks side.

"Easy, love," he muttered. Then in a louder voice he said, "I haven't seen either of you in two hundred years. Ivan I can see tracking me down for one reason or another, but what about you?" Regarding Vash coolly he asked, "What is so important you finally leave your country and your sister to come and find me?"

"Believe me, unless it was urgent I would have left it to the lug," said Vash, jerking a thumb at Ivan. "But I agreed we needed you, and you are a notorious recluse even to your own kind. My skills were needed."

"It is very important you come with us now," said Ivan, straightening with pipe in hand. He had that creepy smile on his face, the one that had always given Arthur the chills.

"Why in the bloody hell would I do that? You barge past my wards, invade my territory, attack Alfred-

"I was aiming for you," said Ivan. "He got in the way."

"That was you on the phone," said Alfred grimly. "You were checking to see if you'd be storming the right house."

Vash shrugged. "It would have been a waste otherwise."

"Last I knew you, this entire operation would have been a waste of your time," protested Arthur.

"It's Yao-Yao."

That checked Arthur. Whatever he might think of Ivan, Yao had always been a friend to him. How his fellow Ancient had fallen in love with the slightly insane Russian warlock he had no idea, but Yao had seemed happy last he saw him.

"Yao? What of him?"

Ivan had a sad look on his face, one Arthur had never seen before. Various ranges of joy, anger, happiness, and lust he'd seen. After he'd gotten together with Yao, the warlock had even seen what he could only call love. But never this weary sadness.

In a quiet voice, Ivan said, "He's dying."

* * *

Alfred wasn't happy about it, but Arthur brought the two warlocks inside, extinguishing the witch lights and flipping on the electrical ones. He put a pot on the stove out of habit, and gestured for them to sit at the table. When he turned to Alfred, he found the lad hopping from foot to foot, staring down at his legs.

"What are you doing?" he asked tiredly.

"I'm walkin' around, Iggy," he said, stopping to frown at Arthur. "How'd I do that?"

Rather than explain his theory, Arthur pointed to the table and ordered, "Sit."

Alfred sat, though one leg bounced steadily. Giving up, Arthur set about getting down mugs and a box of tea. "The only reason I'm listening to what you have to say is for Yao's sake. Now start explaining to me how the best healer I've ever met is dying."

Vash folded his arms. "It is not just him. To be honest we worried for you too."

Arthur frowned. "Who else is...dying?"

"Too many, it's why I came. I won't risk Lilly getting sick to," stated Vash.

"I need names," said Arthur, folding his arms.

"Kiku. Roderich. Tino. Scott. They're all in different stages, Yao is the worst off, but it's the same symptoms. Before we left it looked like Gilbert was starting to show symptoms."

Arthur frowned. "Gilbert? He's the most resilient Magica I've ever met."

"The fact he even admitted he was getting sick should be proof of just how bad this is getting," said Vash.

"What are the symptoms?" asked Arthur.

This time it was Ivan who spoke. "The fever is first. It drains your energy. After two weeks the rash starts. Yao-Yao is slipping. We have to drug him so he won't scratch himself raw. When we left, he didn't recognize me anymore."

Arthur stared at the kettle, mouth set in a grim line. "How long has this been going on?"

"Three weeks. After the first two days Yao called a gathering at my place," said Vash. "Everyone is there now, except you. You're the only one we couldn't find."

Arthur frowned, and the kettle started to screech. He took it off the burner, turning off the heat. "Explain just why you felt the need to fetch me. For all I know you two could be carriers."

"No one has ever seen anything like this before. Not even Yao. We need all the help we can get. Besides, Yao might be the oldest but we all know you're the best. I started looking for you first, and I just now found you."

Arthur snorted. "Three weeks? I'm losing my touch."

"You will help us find cause so he can give us antidote and I can break his head," said Ivan, smiling sweetly.

"Even in the old days I never heard of an illness that would affect Magica."

"Unless it has magic in it," pointed out Vash. "None of the Ancients would do this, Arthur. We might not get along but we don't turn on our own kind."

"You honestly think another Magica was born after all this time?" asked Arthur incredulously as he carried two mugs over.

"It's the only thing that makes sense," said Vash, accepting the mug with a nod of thanks. "Think of it, our families might have had some power but they weren't full Magica like us. It's the magic itself that chooses who will be its bearer, an immortal Magica. You know as well as I we never found another after Britannia passed."

Arthur ran a finger around the rim of the third mug, turning Earl Gray into black coffee before handing it to Alfred. He took the last mug for himself, cupping it between his hands. It was well known that if a Magica died, then their power would find a new host. Sometimes, if they had enough power, it would split and find two new hosts. The Belishmet brothers, for example, had been born not long after a man they knew only as Germania had been killed. The man who had mentored Arthur briefly before he outgrew him in power had been known simply as Britannia. He had passed not long after the Revolutionary war, though no one was really sure how. It was true that they had not found another Magica since, though it was rare for there to be such a long stretch between the death and birth of Magica.

"Ivan, when we find them you can't kill them," he said at last. "If nothing else I want to question them. How have they avoided detection for so long and still learned of us? How do they have any control over their magic?"

Ivan didn't seem overly thrilled by this, but he didn't argue. It was a true statement to just how worried he was about Yao. Normally even Yao himself had to do some convincing before he could curb the Russian's violent streak.

"As long as he is caught I don't care what you do with him," said Vash, sipping his tea. "You come with us and do what you must. Will you be bringing your pet with you?"

Arthur glanced at Alfred. He was genuinely surprised the lad had sat quietly through all this without any outbursts. A grim, serious look was on his face, though he frowned a little at the pet comment.

"Pet? What pet? Wait, you mean me?"

Vash regarded Alfred. It occurred to Arthur that living in his mountain Vash had no doubt avoided humans as much as possible. Apparently it had done little for his already meager appreciation for them.

"I'm surprised, Arthur. It's not like you to become attached."

"Where I go, he goes," said Arthur coolly, sipping his tea.

Alfred frowned at him. "Since when? I was going to go anyway, but how come they show up and suddenly I'm on a leash?"

"Because the last time you ran off without me you got yourself blown up."

"Oh, like I asked for that."

"If you wanted to come anyway I don't see why you're complaining."

"That's not the point, Artie."

Arthur opened his mouth, Alfred knew full well he tolerated the nicknames in private but didn't appreciate them in public, but a chilled aura stopped him. He turned his attention to Ivan, slowly lowering his mug to the counter. He didn't like the way the Russian warlock was looking at Alfred.

"I do not think I have ever seen this side of you, Arthur," he mused, still staring at Alfred. "You argue with him, indulge him. You speak of ancient secrets in his presence. Now you plan to bring him to a place known only to warlocks and witches. Could it be you love him?"

Arthur tensed. While he would readily admit this was true, he didn't like the way Ivan had asked. The big warlock had been known for being somewhat insane, with a mentality not unlike a child when it came to hurting objects and people alike. Yao had tempered this considerably, but with the man in danger of death and not in the immediate vicinity, all bets were off. Arthur didn't forget how Alfred had matched his strength before, but he feared it was a similar case to Vash, the Russian had been caught off guard. What would happen if he was ready?

"What is the point of having a pretty pet if they will not last, _da?_"

"Ivan, don't-

"Alfred-!"

Vash's bored warning and Arthur's protest were cut off. Ivan rose from his seat and made for Alfred faster than Arthur had seen him move in centuries, one hand reaching for Alfred's throat. At first it looked as though Alfred was going to take the attack sitting down.

Then, in the space of a heartbeat, he was on his feet and in motion. He grabbed the wrist of the hand Ivan had been reaching for him with, twisting his body to flip the warlock bodily onto the floor. In a single fluid movement he had Ivan face down on the floor, arm twisted precariously behind his back, one foot on the back of his neck.

"Watch it, ruski," growled Alfred.

Ivan giggled, and then reached out, grabbing Alfred's foot with his free hand and yanking it off his neck. His arm popped from its joint as Alfred fell, but he simply rose to his feet, reaching a hand up to pop it back into place. He rolled his shoulders, smiling eerily at Alfred as he rolled to his feet.

"Not bad, but I am better."

Arthur could have told Ivan this was a poor word choice. The warlock barely had time to take a step forward before Alfred was on him. The lad didn't take well to losing a game of checkers, but he took immense pride in his time in the Marines, in what they were and in what they had taught him. He was hardly going to take a comment like that sitting down.

Vash looked on, apparently still bored as Arthur quickly debated whether or not he should intervene. He very much wanted to, desperate to keep Alfred from getting hurt again, but he also knew that if he did intervene then Alfred would never forgive him. It was only by a great deal of willpower that he was able to hold his peace.

As it was, the two moved so fast they were almost a blur. Arthur watched, tense with anxiety as Alfred fought with the most ruthless warlock he'd ever met. It was difficult, for more reasons than one. It was hard to keep up with the fight, though he could make out both combatants land several blows.

When they finally slowed, Arthur felt a rush of surprise and relief. Alfred had gotten behind Ivan, hooking an arm under his chin and yanking him off balance. A well-placed side kick made his legs buckle, even as the lad snatched a kitchen knife from the counter. In a single, fluid motion Alfred drew it across Ivan's neck and plunged it into his chest.

Vash took another sip of his tea as the fight stopped. Immortal or no, some wounds took a little longer to recover from than others. When Alfred released his grip, taking a step back, Ivan fell heavily to the floor. His lavender eyes were still wide open, a creepy smile still on his face as he waited for his wounds to heal.

Wordlessly, Alfred tossed the bloody knife on the counter by the sink, and stalked out. Arthur watched him go, hesitated, and looked back at the other two Ancients. Ivan would be down for the count for another thirty seconds, at least.

"Impressive," mused Vash as he drained his mug. "It has been some time since anyone has beaten Ivan so quickly. If you wish to bring the human you won't get any argument from me, so long as you do join us."

Arthur glanced towards the other end of the house, already edging towards the doorway. "Yes, yes, I will. Go on ahead, I will join you momentarily. There are a few things I'll need to gather. Once I speak with Alfred we will be on our way."

Vash nodded, satisfied, and got to his feet. "Pull yourself together, Ivan. We're leaving."

The Russian had slowly dragged himself to a sitting position, reaching up to press a hand over his chest. The blood had stopped gushing from the cut in his neck, and it seemed as though his throat had already recovered from getting slashed. Not bad, considering how deep Alfred had cut. "This human is interesting. Perhaps we can play once Yao is fixed."

Arthur grimaced, and ducked out of the kitchen. The day he let Alfred 'play' with Ivan was the day he abandoned magic.

* * *

When the warlock found Alfred, he was sitting on the foot of the bed, scowling at the crutches leaning against the wall. He was wearing a new shirt, and is hands were clean of blood. When Arthur came in, rather than look up he folded his arms and said, "I'm not going."

Arthur frowned. "Why not? They're not all like Ivan-

"I don't care," he snapped, getting to his feet. "I'm not your pet, Arthur. You can't order me around like one. Besides, it didn't sound like they'd welcome a _human_ anyway. Why should I want to help them?"

The warlock went slowly over to the desk, already a mess of papers, books, comic books, and video games. He pulled out the chair, turning it around to sit ramrod straight. "Sit, please, love."

Alfred paced back in forth in front of the bed a few times, running a hand through his hair, but then reluctantly plopped back down on the edge of the bed.

"You remember the names Vash listed? The ones that were getting sick?"

He waited until Alfred nodded, still frowning, before continuing.

"Yao Wang is one of the few Ancients that is older than me. He is a skilled healer, and one of the few I would call a friend. Remember those fireworks I gave you for your and Mathew's birthday? He's the one who made them. Kiku is the Japanese warlock who gave me the spell I use for my workroom. Also one of the few I call friend. He has a partner, a Greek man. Both are very peaceful, both keep to themselves, they never do any harm to anyone unless it's provoked self-preservation. The only reason I can think of that would make Kiku a target is that his healing abilities are second only to Yao's. Roderich isn't very powerful, and has made it a point to live with Vash as a pacifist for the last three centuries. All he cares about is music. Elizabeta, his wife, is the fighter of the two, and no doubt she's worried sick about him.

"Tino is one of the most cheerful people I have ever met. I doubt he would hurt a fly. Over the years he's been the most adverse to harming humans. Though I would recommend you didn't provoke him- he's something of a Marine himself. His husband treasures him above all else. I'd rather not think of what would happen if Tino died of this."

Arthur had, frankly, avoided thinking about the other warlocks as much as he'd avoided their presence. That said, he had gotten along with most of them to some degree at one time or another. It came in handy now, at least. The warlock knew that if he could humanize them, make it clear that at least one person would miss them if this sickness ran its course, Alfred would go with him, even grudgingly. It was simply a matter of appealing to his hero complex.

Alfred took a minute to absorb that, and it looked as though Arthur had him. But he grimaced when the lad asked, "What about Scott? Vash said he was sick too."

"Don't worry about him," said Arthur, looking away. "I could care less."

"Arthur, who is Scott?" asked Alfred, catching his gaze.

Arthur hesitated, but then reluctantly admitted, "He's my eldest brother."

Alfred got to his feet, going over to the closet. As he tossed a backpack onto the bed he asked, "Why didn't you say that to begin with? I'll be ready in ten. By the way, any idea how my legs are working?"

The warlock chucked. "If you'll recall the doctor diagnosed your problem as psychosomatic. The problem was all in your head, as it were. No one could make you walk again but you. Believe me, I tried."

When Alfred gave him a funny look, Arthur elaborated.

"I'll admit I did try to use magic to heal you. More than once, actually. It didn't work anymore than what the doctors tried. It was simply a symptom of PTSD that no one could overcome but you. For one reason or another, your brain wouldn't allow you to walk. Then when you need to, you did."

"When you needed me to," Alfred corrected, smiling wryly. "What am I gonna say? You know people are gonna ask."

Arthur shrugged. "I doubt they will believe you if you simply tell them you woke up one morning and could walk again." He considered this, and then said, "I think I'll leave this to you. Just run it by me before you use it, all right?"

Alfred pouted. "What, you don't think I can make something believable?"

"No," said Arthur bluntly, chuckling.

"Fine," grumbled Alfred. "Now get out so I can change."

The Brit got to his feet, relieved it hadn't taken a spell to get Alfred to come along. While he still didn't seem enthusiastic, it was clear he would be coming willingly. Satisfid, he turned to leave the room.

"Arthur?"

The warlock turned, noting Alfred has used his real name more in the last hour than he usually did in an entire week.

"Did you used to be like them? About mortals?"

As much as Arthur wanted to lie, he found he truly didn't want to. Not to Alfred. Not even about this.

"Yes."

"What made you change your mind?"

Smiling faintly, he answered, "I met the right one."

* * *

**Please Review!**


	5. Chapter 4

**Shout out to Black Kaitou and ZanyAnimeGirl!**

**Yes its been a while, my bad. Meant to update sooner, but I get distracted very easily. I have a very short- squirrel!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Arthur climbed the narrow stair to his workroom, walking briskly across the space to snag his workbag. That was what he thought of it as, though in recent times he'd had to change its shape to a messenger bag. While he had cared little for mortals he hadn't appreciated the 'man bag' comments.

He worked quickly, though didn't rush as he went around the workroom, putting things he might find of use into the bag. A few books for research purposes, an extra power crystal, a pad and pen, among other things. Each item disappeared into the bag, but it never bugled or got heavier. He had used a spell similar to the one Kiku had given him some centuries ago on it, allowing him to store however much he might need inside it. The thing was invaluable to a warlock who liked to be well prepared in any situation he might find himself.

Arthur was about to leave, taking one last glance around the room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, when a glint on one of the messiest tables caught his eye. He glanced at it out of habit, but then did a double take. It was a pair of spectacles, nothing special. They were crude things in today's time, but when he'd first made them they'd been very impressive. Nothing fancy, but before he'd learned to read virtually every language he might come across they had been invaluable. They were spelled to translate whatever the wearer was reading into their native language. Now they were almost a nuisance to him as they translated whatever he read into the most archaic form of Old English.

The warlock paused, contemplating. Then he walked over to the table, picking them up. After studying them for a moment, he ran his finger over the main wire. It was the central one that held the fames together and acted as earpieces. With a drop of magic and an image in mind, the spectacles shifted into the form of modern eyeglasses.

Satisfied, Arthur added them to his bag, turning to leave. They might be useless to him at this point, but he knew Alfred hated being out of the loop. At least now he'd be able to read no matter where they were. It was better than nothing, he reasoned. Even if he was allowed to use the Transformation spell on the lad, Alfred wouldn't be able to work magic. He was born a human, not a Magica, after all.

When Arthur reached the kitchen Alfred was waiting for him. He was clad in cargo pants, his old combat boots, a plain gray t-shirt, and his favorite bomber jacket. A backpack was slung over one shoulder, and though the only weapon Arthur actually saw was a Glock at his hip, the warlock knew there had to be at least half a dozen others on Alfred's person. He mused that it was one thing he had in common with Vash, the belief that there was no such thing as over-armed.

"Ready?" he asked, setting his bag on the table to pull on a jacket. The Swiss mountains weren't exactly known for their warm climate.

"Yeah," said Alfred, eyeing the bag. "Packing light?"

Arthur chuckled. "Hardly, love. It can hold an infinite number of objects, so long as they fit in the opening. Quite a handy spell, though it's a pain in the arse to do. It's picky, won't take easily."

Alfred was staring at it with a mix of wonder and fascination. "Whoa, you mean you've got a Mary Pippins bag?"

The warlock paused as he pulled on gloves. "Pardon?"

He really should have known better. Alfred proceeded to go off on a detailed explanation of the magical, firm but fair nanny from a story book turned Disney movie with a bottomless carpet bag and a flying umbrella. Arthur had heard of many strange things, but he had to admit this word, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, was among the more bizarre.

"Is there really a song to go with it or are you making that bit up?" asked Arthur, leading the way down the back porch.

"Nope," said Alfred, bounding down after him, a wide grin on his face. "It's real. Remind me when we get back and I'll look it up for you. It's a childhood staple, Iggy,"

"For your generation, perhaps," mused Arthur.

"Where are we going?"

"Just inside the tree line. I prefer to return to the same place I left, it makes things easier. It will hardly do if we need to come back in the middle of the day and we arrived in the middle of the yard in plain sight."

"How are we going to get there?"

Arthur chuckled as they reached the heavier shadows provided by the trees. "Magic, love. Need you ask?"

"I figured that, but I mean how? Are you going to wiggle your nose and send us down a rabbit hole, are we going to turn into smoke comets like in Harry Potter, are we going to just go 'poof', what?"

"I have yet to find a spell that requires me to wiggle my nose," Arthur informed him tartly, a bit miffed. "I'm going to use a transportation spell. It's a bit risky if you don't know exactly where you are going, but fortunately for us I've been to Vash's mansion more than once in the past."

"So it's like the State Farm commercial?"

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "_No,_ Alfred. It's more complicated and difficult than that. I am going to use a spell. The two of us are going to be transported via magic stream to the location I set. It can take us anywhere in the world. We will arrive within seconds. Keep in mind that we will be traveling halfway around the world, so it will not be two in the morning there."

"I know, I know. It's probably going to be about eight in the morning."

Arthur took a moment, and realized Alfred was right. He was losing his touch. Giving a world weary sigh, and closed his eyes, focusing on the spell. His lips moved as he worked, reaching out to take Alfred by the hand. In a corner of his mind not focusing on the spell, he mused that he wasn't used to traveling with anyone. It would be an interesting change.

This particular spell was a centrifugal one. This essentially meant he had to repeat it over and over again, creating a cycle of ever-growing power that would expand until there was enough to make the jump to wherever their destination might be.

"The tingling is normal, right?"

The warlock stiffened, almost losing his hold on the brewing spell. He remembered the first time his brothers had used the spell around him, when their mother had told them to keep an eye on him. They'd used the spell to ditch him. He'd been standing right next to him, and remembered the full-body tingling that had penetrated to his very bones when they'd used the spell without including him. When they'd vanished he'd been thrown back ten feet into the trunk of a tree.

Feeding more power into the spell, Arthur turned and threw himself at Alfred, wrapping his arms around his neck. Alfred seemed surprised, but didn't stumble back. The lack of added distraction made it easier for Arthur to feed one more pulse of energy into the spell, finally reaching the level needed to make the jump.

In a heartbeat the grass under Arthur's feet vanished. His face had ended up buried in Alfred's chest when he'd grabbed the lad in a desperate last minute attempt to keep him within the spell. Wind swirled madly around them, but only for the space of a heartbeat. The next thing to hit the warlock was the bitter cold.

"Whoa," breathed Alfred.

Arthur pulled back, but found Alfred's arms wrapped around him. He looked up, only to be met with a kiss. It was a simple, chaste kiss, just long enough not to be classified as a peck. Arthur felt his face heat when Alfred pulled back, grinning.

"That was awesome! You telling me you do that all the time? Holy crap it's cold."

The warlock stumbled back a step when Alfred let him go, chuckling when he hurriedly zipped up his aviator jacket and stuffed his hands into the pockets. "We're in the Swiss mountains in fall, love. Besides that we're quite high up. Did you expect it to be warm?"

"No," grumbled Alfred, stomping his feet in the ankle high snow as he ducked his head down into his collar. "How come you're not cold?"

"I am cold, but after so many harsh winters you learn to cope. I was born in old England, remember?" Turning to lead the way to Vash's so called mansion, he added, "It's why I enjoy America's winters. If you stay far enough south they're not much of a problem."

"Where's this mansion, anyway?" asked Alfred, trailing him through the snow. The sun was bright overhead, though judging by its position they had arrived early morning.

"This way. It's built into the mountain. Everyone calls it a mansion, but that's hardly an accurate descriptor," Arthur answered, picking his way over the ground. "I believe calling it a fortified fortress would be more deserving. He built it into the mountain."

"Wait, by himself?"

"Yes."

"How did- oh. Magic?"

"Yes."

"How long did it take him?"

"A few days, I believe. Lilly did help him a little, mostly with the finer points."

"Who's Lilly?"

"His sister."

"And they get along?"

"Yes."

"So not all Magica hate their siblings?"

Arthur sighed, remembering he would be dealing with his brothers. "No, Alfred. It's much like mortals, it really depends. Now it's very important that no matter what happens, you don't pull your gun."

Of course the first thing Alfred did was pull the Glock, flicking off the safety.

"I'm serious, Alfred! It's not real danger, but if you have a weapon-

"So this is the human pet that beat up Ivan."

Arthur noted, relieved, that while Alfred hasn't put the gun away he didn't train it on the figure perched on a rock just ahead. Well, it would be more honest to call the thing a boulder as it put the figure thirty feet over their heads. He scowled at the warlock, who was sitting cross legged with his chin propped on one hand lazily.

"Carriedo," he greeted curtly.

"Kirkland. Decided to come, then?"

"It wouldn't be wise to ignore this, and you know it. You're here."

"Yes, but then even the Magica you got along with haven't heard from you in centuries, _amigo_. I doubted you still cared. Now, who is this pet? Put the gun away, human. As much as I'd enjoy relieving your master of his throat we need him in good condition."

Alfred bristled. "He ain't my master. Nobody is my master. Who the hell are you, anyway?"

The Spanish warlock chuckled. Rising to his feet, he stepped off the boulder, landing in a crouch before straightening. He was clad in a thick jacket open over a red sweater, jeans and snow boots standing out against the white of the snow. Turning his attention to Alfred he said, "I am Antonio Carriedo. Who are you?"

"That's it? I kind of expected a bigger intro. As for me I'm Alfred F. Jones, hero and sharp shooter extraordinaire."

Antonio cocked his head, staring at Alfred for a moment before turning back to Arthur. "Are you sure he's not a pet? I was under the impression this sort would drive you _loco_."

_ BANG!_

"Alfred!"

"What? It's not like he's gonna die," argued Alfred, shoving the Glock back into its holster.

Arthur rubbed his temples wearily, and then walked over to peer down at Antonio. He pursed his lips, finding the surprised look on the unmoving warlocks face somewhat gratifying. More gratifying than the bullet hole directly between his eyebrows.

"Nice shot," he commented, stepping around Antonio to continue on. "Though you won't receive any points from him or Lovino for that."

"I don't care. Who's Lovino, anyway?"

"His partner. They're both Magica, love. It's not a good idea to get on their bad side."

"You do it."

"I can defend myself, and I'm immortal. If they do land a killing blow it won't last."

Alfred pouted, but didn't continue that point further.

"Why did you tell him you were a 'sharpshooter extraordinaire' instead of a Marine?" asked Arthur as they reached a large cave opening.

"It's not a good idea to show your whole hand before you need to," said Alfred, shrugging.

Arthur nodded in agreement, bringing up a witch light once more as they continued into the recesses of the cave.

"Iggy, it's a dead end."

"Patience, love," Arthur scolded absently, walking up to the jagged wall that served as the cave's end. He laid a hand on the rock, murmuring a spell. In a heartbeat the wall faded, exposing a tunnel lit by mountain witch lights.

"Is this stuff always going to be cool or do you get used to it?"

"I'm used to it, but it might be some time before you are."

Alfred was quiet for a moment, and then asked, "You're not going to keep me in a room this whole time, are you?"

"No, why?" asked Arthur, glancing at him, a little surprised. While it had crossed his mind to simply keep Alfred locked safely away, the idea had been quickly discarded. Unless he put Alfred in a stone vault with no doors no windows no exit besides magic, and it was five hundred feet below ground, the lad would find a way to escape. Even if he didn't, he'd make a mess and throw a fit and no doubt be angry at Arthur for days. None of these options appealed to the warlock, if for no other reason simply because he didn't like having Alfred angry at him. At least, this was not the sort of occasion where the benefits of keeping Alfred out of whatever shenanigans Arthur feared did not outweigh having the lad sulk and glare at him constantly.

"I want to look around, and I want to meet people. Your brothers for example."

Arthur made a face. "You would."

Alfred rolled his eyes, but didn't press the subject. It was the unspoken understanding he would be meeting the infamous brothers if given the chance, whether Arthur liked it or not. He did not.

The walls of the cave gradually became more even and more consistent, soon turning into the smooth four sides of a hallway. The floors became textured tile, the walls engraved to mimic stone. Soon they started passing other halls branching off from the main one, both left and right, though Arthur continued straight.

"Where do those go?" asked Alfred after they passed their fifth hallway.

"Other parts of the mansion. You can explore them later, love. Now we have other things to attend to. The sooner we get the pleasantries over with the sooner I can see Yao and get to work."

"Oi! Eyebrow bastard. Where's Antonio?"

Arthur stopped as a short, lean man clad in khaki pants and an untucked dress shirt stomped over to them from one of the halls they'd just passed. His customary scowl was in place, as much of an identifier as the odd curl sticking up from his chestnut hair. The Italian's temper and attitude had yet to be tempered out, despite the fact he was roughly five hundred and fifty years old. Even Antonio's usually cheerful presence could only do so much.

Gesturing back down the hall, Arthur answered, "Nice to see you again too, Lovino. Antonio is still outside. He should be on his way in by now."

Olive green eyes narrowed to slits. "What the hell did you do?"

Arthur had anticipated this, and had already flicked a silencing spell onto Alfred. The lad tried to answer, only to find his mouth unable to open. He gave Arthur a dirty look, which he ignored.

"Nothing that hasn't happened to him before," he told Lovino, who was already stomping back down the hall.

Only when he was gone did Arthur take away the spell, which Alfred had still been straining against. His mouth flew open with a wordless blurt of sound. As Arthur continued on he demanded, "What was that for?"

"Lovino is a warlock, Alfred, and he has a very short fuse. I'd rather you not confront a warlock inclined to use his magic before his fists while you are still mortal."

Alfred still seemed to be pouting, but he didn't argue. The main greeting room wasn't much farther ahead, much to Arthur's relief. In it stood Vash, Lilly, and Ludwig.

"Welcome," said Lilly as they drew closer, smiling sweetly.

"Thank you for your hospitality while we sort this all out," he returned, bowing politely to the small girl. Only a decade short of her brother in age, she looked more like a girl still in her early teens. Always sweet and kind, Arthur had yet to meet someone who didn't like Lilly.

"How soon can we get started?" asked Ludwig, the tall German as practical as Arthur remembered. "I would rather we didn't work out the truth after more of us become ill."

"Agreed. We can begin immediately. If Lilly could show Alfred to our rooms I would like to see Yao."

Lilly nodded, turning her smile to Alfred. "Of course. This way, please."

Alfred shot Arthur a look, but followed her. Vash eyed him, one hand resting idly on the gun at his hip. Only the fact that Alfred carried no magical weapon kept him from going with them, Arthur knew. Still, once they were out of earshot he said, "Alfred will not hurt Lilly, you have my word. Even if she is immortal his is incapable of harming an innocent."

Vash said nothing, but his hand slowly drifted from the gun.

"Right. This way," said Ludwig, tuning towards a different hall. "Yao and the others are in the infirmary wing. We thought it best to keep them in one location. The laboratory has been set up next to it."

"Good. I take it you have blood samples and the like?"

"_Ja._ We are working on it already, but we need all the help we can get."

"Has anyone else shown symptoms?"

Ludwig sighed. It was one Arthur recognized as being an indicator either Feliciano or Gilbert had been testing his patience recently. Since he doubted it was the warlock's partner, as Feliciano tried to dial down his antics in times suck as these, he decided it must be Ludwig's elder brother.

Confirming his guess, Ludwig said wearily, "Gilbert refuses to stay in the infirmary wing. He claims it is not awesome. No matter what we do he won't stay put. At least it means we know the symptoms haven't gotten very potent yet."

Arthur smiled wryly. Yes, that sounded like Gilbert. "Well, if he's not helping with the research perhaps he can keep Alfred occupied."

Ludwig glanced back at him. "The human? Why did you bring him? There was no benefit, and while I believe Vash's report I know you don't need the protection."

Arthur sighed grimly. "It's mostly me being overprotective, I'm afraid. The last time I let him go it didn't end very well."

The German warlock didn't comment. Arthur knew he wouldn't. Ludwig was ever practical and strict. So long as it didn't interfere with his work with the illness, he wouldn't protest Alfred's presence or Arthur's seemingly bizarre choices. In the past Arthur had always gotten along rather well with Ludwig, finding him easy to work with and understanding in his desire to keep his distance from everyone, mortal or otherwise. Frankly the only reason Ludwig had what little involvement he had now with other Magica was because his partner was a social butterfly. A little irritating in Arthur's opinion, Feliciano was eternally cheerful and friendly, the opposite of his twin Lovino.

"By the way, did he really slit Ivan's throat?" asked Ludwig, a curious and unmistakably impressed note in his voice.

"And stabbed him in the heart afterward," Arthur confirmed with a bit of pride.

"Impressive," mused Ludwig in a low voice. In a louder voice he said, "When this is over I would like to spar with him. It has been a while since I've had a challenge."

"If he wants to, which he probably will."

By now they had reached the infirmary wing, and Arthur slowed his pace as Ludwig pointed him to one of the cracked doors, mouth grim. The Brit nodded his thanks, going over to the door. When he slowly pushed it open, looking inside, his heart sank.

Ivan was back by Yao's beside, clad in clothes without the buckshot holes or blood. He didn't look up when Arthur lowly came in, watching Yao with sad eyes.

The Chinese Ancient wasn't moving, save for the ragged rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were closed, a sheen of sweat on his sallow skin. His black hair was coming free from its horsetail, strands sticking to his face and neck. He was clad in an undyed tunic and pants, but the sheets were all jammed at the foot of the bed. His wrists were tied to the headboard with rags, hands hanging limply on either side of his head. His eyes darted rapidly behind closed lids.

Arthur gave his old friend a long, grim study before turning to Ivan. "How long do you plan to keep him under?"

"I think it slows down when they are like this," said the Russian grimly. "I will bring him out so he can eat, nothing more. We can keep him hydrated with an IV."

"What do the others think?"

"I have not asked. Yao is my only concern."

Well at least he was honest. Arthur nodded, turning to leave. "Right. Let me know if there is any change in his condition."

One by one Arthur went to see those who had been infected. Heracles was grimly securing his partner's wrists to the bed with rags when he came in, Kiku struggling weakly and mumbling as the medicine kicked in. The only thing Arthur was able to make out clearly was, "Who are you? Leave me alone."

Within a few minutes he lay still, eyes closed. Heracles gently stroked his damp hair before returning to the chair at his bedside. Glancing over at Arthur he said tiredly, "He got worse after they left. The last time he woke he did not recognize me, and the itching started. I gave him the medicine to try and slow it down."

Roderich at least seemed coherent, turning to look at Arthur when he came in. Elizabeta was setting an empty soup bowl back on a tray, and turned to give him a tired smile. While the Austrian warlock looked sickly, he wasn't as bad off as the others.

"Arthur, nice to see you again," said Elizabeta, cracking a weary smile. "I will join you soon. I've been working on compiling a list of illness with similar symptoms."

"If I didn't know what happens when it progresses too far I'd say you were worrying over nothing," said Roderich tiredly as she left. "If you want to talk to me about anything now is the time to do it. I was thinking about having them put me under before it progressed too far."

"That might be wise. If your metabolisms slow it seems to have an effect, but I'm not sure by how much. That said I'd like to ask you a few questions before you have it done."

Roderich nodded, gesturing to the empty seat by the bed. He removed his glasses, cleaning them on his tunic as he said, "If it was not happening to me I would not believe it. I am the first to admit I am not the strongest warlock, but this isn't right. We don't get sick."

"No, we don't. No more than we can die by normal means. We believe the same rule applies. If you are sick, there was magic in it," said Arthur as he sat.

"It was deliberate," noted Roderich, face grim.

"Exactly. I'd like to leave as many of the others as I can working on finding a cure the old fashioned way, as a precaution. But I'd like to try and track down whoever did this," said the Brit, pulling the pad and pin from his bag. "What was the first symptom you noticed?"

Roderich set his mouth in a grim line. "At first I didn't even know what it was. I just thought I was hot. It lasted for a day, but then I was always cold. Elizabeta said I was burning up. We'd already gotten the warning from Ivan and Yao, so we knew what was happening."

"When did this start?"

"Ten days ago. I'm getting weaker, Arthur. I have to really concentrate just to make a witch light. Yao had more power in one hand than I ever had in my entire body, and look at him. That's why I want them to put me under. Out of all of us to get sick, I'm already the weakest."

Arthur nodded, making a note. His memory was good, but he preferred to have a hard copy when he could. "What were you doing the day you noticed the symptoms? Walk me through it."

Roderich thought for a moment. It was another indicator he was weakening. While not the strongest in power, his memory was among the sharpest of all the Magica. Honestly, Arthur was convinced the man had memorized every half-decent musical composition ever written.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he said after a moment. "I woke up, had breakfast, and went to the west wing to play. Elizabeta joined me like she usually does after an hour or so, and she stayed until it was time to eat lunch. After that I gave Lilly her flute lessons. She's doing quite well, you know. Better than she ever did with the piano. Then Vash roped me into target practice again. By the time I got away from him it was time for dinner. Elizabeta and I had tea on the balcony like we always do, and then we went to bed."

Arthur jotted down brief notes, planning to lay out a time line once he was done just to be sure. "What about the day before? Did you do anything to set it apart from the one you just told me about?"

"I went into the village to get supplies," said Roderich, shrugging. "It was Wednesday, so it was my turn. I did that in the morning instead of playing."

"Which village?"

"The one just a few miles down the mountain. It's very nice, and the walk is pleasant when the weather is good."

"What did you do in the village? Did you notice anything different, something that had changed from the last time?"

Roderich frowned harder as he thought. "I went into the village and started at the produce shop. I got the fruits and vegetables, and then I went to the cheese shop. They know us, so they had everything ready, I just had to pick up the bags. The same with the bakers and wine shop. They are all family owned shops, and it is a very small village. After that I had tea at the cafe before bringing everything up, I always do." Brows slowly knitting tighter together, the warlock added slowly, "There was a boy there. I had not seen him before, but he was a child, I didn't think anything of it. They change when they grow, I don't usually remember their faces, but he was the one who served me my tea. I didn't ask them about it, they know my routine as well as everyone else."

"What does knowing your routine have to do with the boy serving you tea?"

"I just sat down and he brought it to me, didn't ask for my order. A little odd, but as I said, it was my routine. The boy was polite, which was nice. Children can be so rude these days."

Arthur waved that bit away, saying, "The boy, what do you remember about the boy?"

"He was...this tall. I'm not sure how old that might make him." Roderich held a hand out over the side of the bed at roughly five feet. Mind flicking back to Alfred, Arthur decided this boy would be somewhere around nine or ten years old. At least that was how tall the twins were at that age.

"What did he look like?"

"He had your eyebrows," answered Roderich immediately, though he paused before continuing in a more concentrating tone. "Caucasian, blue eyes, blond hair...smiled a lot, very cheerful. I'm afraid I didn't catch his name."

"No, that's good enough. If we can get a similar description from the others we should be able to track him down," said Arthur, getting to his feet. "Get some rest, and thank you."

Roderich gave him a tired smile. "Bring back the head of whoever did this. That will be thanks enough."

Arthur went to see Tino next, who was sitting cross-legged on is blankets playing solitaire. He smiled at Arthur when he came in, the only sign he was ill the tired light in his eyes. The Brit glanced around, but saw no sign of the tall Swede who referred to Tino as his wife.

"Hello Arthur, long time no see," said Tino brightly. "I'm glad you came."

"As am I, old friend. Where is Berwald?"

"I told him I was hungry. He never leaves, even though I tell him I have a week before it gets worse. Now, you look like you have questions. Just promise we will have tea and chat before you leave."

Arthur cracked a smile. It was hard not to around Tino. "Very well. I'd like you to go back over the day before you noticed the symptoms."

Tino cocked his head. "Not the day of?"

"No. I just spoke with Roderich. There's an anomaly I'm curious about."

"Okay, then. I think that was...oh, yes, that was the day I wanted to make a cake. A real cake, you know? Not the kind where you have the kitchen make it for you. I went out to get ingredients, but it took a while because I wanted to make a coconut cream cake from scratch."

By the time Tino had walked him through his day, Arthur had what he needed. He nodded to Berwald as he left, noting the tray the big man was holding. Like Roderich, Tino had been served by a cheerful ten year old boy.

Arthur eyed the door next to Tino's, but after a long moment he turned away. He walked back into the lab, setting down his pad and pen. When Ludwig looked up from a microscope he asked, "Would you mind talking to Scott? Just ask him these questions and see if there's anyone who fit's this description."

Ludwig sat back on his stool, taking the pad. After a moment of studying it he asked incredulously, "You believe this was all done by a mortal child?"

"Not a mortal one, no. Perhaps a Magica child."

The German considered this for a moment, not one to jump to conclusions, and then nodded. "Plausible. Are you sure you do not wish to speak to your brother?"

"I'm sure," said Arthur, smiling wryly. "I'll see if I can't find Gilbert. Maybe I can pin him down long enough to get an answer out of him."

Ludwig made a face. "Good luck, then."

Arthur made his way back to the central room, contemplating a search spell. There were several good ones he could use, depending on how he wanted to find Gilbert. One would simply be the equivalent of putting a tracer on him. Some would drag him back to Arthur's current position, and others would restrain him in one manner or another.

The Brit had decided to use the retrieving search spell when a loud shout made his head snap up. His eyes fell on the second story landing of the winding staircase in time to see a flash of ruby-red light. His heart sank. Every Magica's power usually manifested in a color specific to that Magica, at least when it was used in a way that allowed it to show itself. He'd know that color anywhere.

He also recognized that shout.

Before he could do more that bring his own magic to his fingertips, though, someone came flying across the landing. Arthur's jaw dropped as Alfred vaulted over the second story granite railing, twisting as he went to repel of part of the spiral staircases rail before landing in a rolling crouch. Not far behind him flew Gilbert, a smile as wide as the one on Alfred's face in place. As Alfred broke into a run, he launched himself from the landing, foregoing the gentler landing to make up some lost ground. It didn't do him much good.

Arthur was still staring at the two as Alfred half crashed into a pillar on the opposite side of the room, yelling, "I win!" as he did so.

Gilbert made it to the pillar mere seconds after he did. Though rather than protest his loss, as Arthur expected of the egotistical Prussian, he started to laugh. It was a strange laugh that hadn't changed over the years, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

"I haven't lost in decades!" cackled Gilbert. "You're pretty awesome for a mortal. Still don't believe stiff old Arthur's the one who picked you up."

Arthur, who had been staring at the two, snapped out of it. "I beg your pardon?" he demanded tartly, stalking over to them.

Alfred looked over at him, a wide smile still on his face as he caught his breath. "Hey, Iggy! This place is huge. Lilly had to take care of something, so Gilbert was showing me around. Can you believe they seriously have a room _just_ for building plans? They have the originals for the Roman Coliseum!"

"Yes, I know, I'm the one who gave them to Vash. Now what do you two think you are doing?"

"Racing," said Gilbert, slinging an arm over Alfred's shoulders. "I was bored, and bored is not awesome. Go back to the microscopes with Luddy, we'll stay out of your way."

Arthur scowled at the albino. More specifically, at the arm on Alfred's shoulders. The lad didn't seem to mind, grinning and still flushed from their race. Part of Arthur knew this was just Gilbert being Gilbert, and Alfred being the friendly person he was. That said, he didn't like how quickly they'd become buddy-buddy. Alfred was _his_, not Gilbert's.

"Actually I need you to answer some questions," he said stiffly. "Alfred, why don't you get Vash to show you his weapon stocks. I'm sure he'd love someone to talk guns with."

Alfred seemed to pause, but Gilbert rolled his eyes. "That's no fun. I'll answer your questions later. I can show off Vash's weapons vault as well as he can."

"No," snapped Arthur, and then forced himself to take a steadying breath. "No, I need to speak with you now so we can move along with the investigation."

Gilbert looked like he was about to tell Arthur off, but Alfred stepped out from under his arm. "Why don't you go ahead, get it knocked out? I'll be in the kitchen when you're done."

Alfred waved cheerfully as he trotted off, making his way to the mansion's elaborate and well stocked kitchens. Arthur felt more relief than he thought he should, but before he could wonder about it Gilbert cackled. He glared at the Prussian, demanding, "What?"

"This is awesome! I've never seen you jealous before. Oh that was sweet. Relax, _dummkopf_, he's awesome but not that kind of awesome. Now did you really want to ask the Awesome me questions or did you just want me away from your boyfriend?"

Arthur felt his face heat, but snapped, "No, I have questions. Are you coming or what?" Jealous? Ha! He'd never been jealous of anything. Then again, he hadn't had much to be jealous _of_.

Setting off back down the hall at a brisk march, it occurred to Arthur that there were a number of things he hadn't had before. Jealousy was only one of them. He'd known bringing Alfred into his world would change things, but he'd underestimated how much.

"So we're cool? I can hang out with him without you biting my head off?"

Arthur sighed wearily. It was just his luck the first Magica friend Alfred made was with Gilbert. A pity it was too late to rethink that underground box idea.

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	6. Chapter 5

**Hi! Whee, I'm alive! Totally didn't mean to wait this long, but it's looking like a trend, *laughs uncomfortably*.**

**_IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT_\- Fanfic is picky about lemons lately, so in order to not get this story removed I have made an AO3 account which is basically a copy of my Fanfic account, plus lemons. If you want the version of this chapter or any future chapters that have sexy fun time, a link will be provided in my profile. (The link wouldn't even go through when I tried to put it in this update :P )  
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**Shout out to ****aphrodite931, FireFox Vixen, BCFireShadow, Black Kaitou, and ZanyAnimeGirl!**

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"Are you certain?"

"Of course I am! I'm awesome, and so is my memory. I've never seen that kid in my life. I didn't even go out for a week before I got sick."

Arthur ran a hand back through his hair. "Since when do you not go out?" It was well known that Gilbert was a social, active person, to say the least.

"Yes, I do not believe that either," agreed Ludwig, folding his arms and eyeing his brother.

"It's true! The Awesome me does not get sick, but it was movie week."

When Arthur glanced at Ludwig, the German sighed. "One week a year he locks himself in his house and doesn't come out until he watches a week's worth of movies. I do not know why. It's not healthy, especially since all he eats is popcorn and soda."

"Ha, I do not! That would be unawesome. I drink beer and eat nachos and pizza too. I invite you every year, West, but you always say no."

Before Ludwig could protest, Arthur asked, "Wait, pizza? From a restaurant?"

"I don't have a Italian to make it for me, so _ja_."

"Did you have it delivered?"

"I don't leave the house, remember _dummkopf?_"

"What did the delivery boy look like?"

Gilbert considered that. "Not old enough to have a license, not that I care. I got my pizza, I was happy."

"What did he look like?" pressed Arthur. "Was he tall, was he short, thin, fat, what?"

"Five feet tall and scrawny," answered Gilbert, shrugging. "They usually are. Every now and then they send a hot one, though."

"Focus, Gilbert," urged Arthur, irritated. "Five feet, not very big, what else? Do you remember distinctive features, eye color, hair color?"

Gilbert was silent for about three seconds, and then said, "Sorry dude, skinny Asian kid is all I can give you. Do you have any idea how many people look like that these days?"

Arthur frowned. "Are you sure? No blond hair or blue eyes?"

"No way, big difference. Black eyes, brown hair, gold skin. He looked more like Yao than he did you."

Arthur sat back on his stool, frowning. "What did Scott say, Ludwig?"

"Actually, he said the same thing," said the German, a thoughtful frown on is face. "Two days after this delivery boy showed up at Gilbert's, he was the one to drop off our warning."

Arthur frowned. Over the years the Magica had used the most common method available to sent messages to each other, as if they were bothering to contact each other at all they usually wanted to be discrete. Last century it had been telegrams. These days it was UPS.

"And he thought nothing of it when a child made the delivery?"

Ludwig shrugged. "In the past children have often been used as messengers. They've only stopped doing so in the last decade or so. I would not have noticed either."

As much as Arthur hated to admit it, he was right. Grumpily he asked, "And the description matches?"

In answer Ludwig pointed to the boards where he was already constructing a timeline. A rough sketch of each boy was pinned up, side by side. "So far. It is good, it means we can narrow our search."

"It might also mean we are losing our touch, if two mere boys can find us and learn our routines," Arthur added tartly. "This was synchronized, they had to have this planned this well in advance."

Ludwig nodded sharply, and then leveled a disapproving look at Gilbert. "You should be resting, _bruder._ You are sick, you should not be running around like this."

Gilbert waved off the concern. "Yeah right, I'm awesome. I'll quiet down when I get really sick." Turning to Arthur, he pointed at the Brit's nose and said, "When I'm better, I want a rematch with the kid. The only reason he won was because I'm sick."

"Was not! I won fair and square."

Arthur turned at the indignant protest. "I thought you were raiding the kitchen."

"I was. Then I remembered your brothers were here."

"You're not seeing them, not now anyway."

"I beg to differ, lad."

Arthur went ridged. Slowly he turned, shifting to the side slightly to put himself more between Alfred and the speaker. The heavy Scottish lilt made it clear which brother it was, not that it helped. When Arthur actually looked at Scott, he knew right away something wasn't right. His brother's pale skin went with the fiery red hair he had refused to dye, but now it looked sickly pale, washed out. The green eyes they both shared weren't quiet as lively as he remembered, either.

Scott looked tired, but he still cracked an impish grin. "Got yourself a human pet, Artie? And here we thought you'd sworn off them. Must be a mighty special one, eh?"

"What is it with you people and human pets?" demanded Alfred, irritated.

Ignoring him, Arthur said stiffly, "I don't see how it is any of your concern, Scott. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I'm better 'n some of 'em," said the Magica, smiling wryly. "Heard they'd tracked you down. Got curious. It's been over a hundred years."

"I know. A pity. I was hoping for more."

"Are you two always like this?" asked Alfred.

"Yes," sighed Ludwig. Putting a hand on Gilbert's shoulder, he marched his brother out of the room.

"Go, Alfred. Now."

In response the human planted his feet and folded his arms, chin lifting stubbornly. Blue eyes burned with determination, but Arthur knew the lad well enough to read the clinched jaw as something besides anger. Alfred had come to realize that Arthur wasn't above using a few mild spells on him he felt it was for his own good, more so now that he was actually aware of magic. If Arthur so chose he could make Alfred leave. Arthur seriously considered it, but then turned back to Scott. Later. He'd already used one spell on Alfred today and it had been in a far more appropriate situation.

"Either you've finally mellowed out or you've found yourself a _special_ little pet," teased Scott, grinning. "This is quite a shock, Artie. Who would have thought you of all people would be smitten for anything, prickly as you are?"

Arthur felt his magic start to tingle and spark at his fingertips as his temper flared. No doubt his eyes were starting to glow as well, if memory served. The years hadn't mellowed him, just given him better control, but it all went to the wind whenever he clashed with his brothers.

The warlock opened his mouth, but stopped when a hand settled on his shoulder. He turned, glowering, only to meet Alfred's firm gaze. It didn't change when he met the Brit's glowing eyes, just giving the shoulder a squeeze.

"Take it easy, Iggy," Alfred said, voice low, tone calming.

"You're the one who wanted to meet them," Arthur snapped, but he didn't pull away from the hand. He was still mad, but he could feel his magic retreating from the surface.

"I know. He might be an ass but he's still your brother."

"Bloody hell where did- oh. Oi, out here lads! Artie showed."

Arthur felt Alfred's hand tightened on his shoulder as a young man that looked more like him than Scott came into view. He stood by Scott, regarding them with a raised eyebrow. He had what appeared to be the family eyebrows and acidic green eyes, his short cropped hair a sandy blond to match Arthur's. While Arthur came up to their eldest brother's shoulder, who matched Alfred's six foot five height, this brother came up to his chin, and he seemed to be more stocky in build.

"William," said Arthur stiffly.

"Arthur," nodded his brother, though he was eyeing Alfred with curiosity.

That was when a pair of orange-haired twins swaggered in, every motion in almost perfect unison. Matching grins spread across their faces when they saw Arthur, and the Brit found himself fighting the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. As it was, the only thing keeping him from trying to burn those maddening shit-eating grins off their faces was the steady hand still on his shoulder.

"What the bloody hell are you two smiling at?" he snapped.

"You," laughed one.

"Still as grumpy as ever-

"-even with a little friend."

"Didn't think you'd show in the first place."

"Then why did you bet he would?"

"I was trying to be nice."

"Well, it didn't work."

"Stop it, you two," said Scott, tone level. Even so, both Irishmen snapped their mouths shut. Aside from the family traits and the red hair, both were lean framed, and came up to Scott's nose in height. They were also virtually identical in every way, though they'd had the decency to wear different clothes, one clad in a dark gray sweater while the other wore a navy blue hoodie.

Of course that was the moment Alfred finally chose to speak up. "Huh. So the eyebrows run in the family?"

Four pairs of scowls locked in on him, each set of eyes glowing various shades of green. It ranged from Scott's borderline black to William's pale gray-green, but if there had been any previous doubt all four were brothers, it was erased then. Arthur felt a sense of déjà vu, seeing his brothers draw together as they squared off against him. Just like every other time before, it was him against them. Yes he was more powerful, but only against each one of them. When they ganged up on him, the only way he had a prayer of getting out in one piece was to out-smart them, which had gotten harder and harder over the years. Now on top of that he had to take Alfred into account.

Before Arthur could do more than take a half second to appreciate the situation, though, the mortal at his back protested, "Hey, it was just a question! It's not a bad thing, they're kinda cute. I was just wondering."

Four faces went from depicting brewing tempers to blank surprise in the space of a heartbeat. Arthur was taken aback himself. The last time this particular subject had been broached Alfred had been ten and had referred to them as, "Face caterpillars!" He'd chased the lad around the kitchen with a frying pan before the cackling mortal had said this meant they were cool. There was a notable difference between the child he was fond of calling them 'cool' and the man he loved calling them 'cute'.

Arthur, seeing his brothers were still exchanging bewildered looks, gathered his wits for battle. Well, at least Alfred had given him a few extra seconds to prepare-

That thought was knocked from his head when he heard a sound he hadn't heard in over a hundred years. He found himself staring, along with William and the twins, at their eldest brother. Scott wasn't the most grim faced of the bunch, but he wasn't the most light hearted either. That said, it wasn't often Arthur heard any of his brothers laugh, mostly because the cause was usually a prank on his account and he went out of his way to avoid those. Even then, he had a hard time remembering the last time he heard Scott emit a deep, belly laugh.

"Cute he says! I've heard them called a lot of things, but cute? Where'd you find this one, Artie boy?"

With that, the laugh cut off, and looking Arthur straight in the eye, opened a hand in Alfred's direction. The Brit threw an arm out at the last minute, gritting his teeth as the ball of raw power slammed into his forearm not a foot from Alfred's chest. It shattered on impact, dissipating, but he felt both his radius and his ulna snap.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he snarled, bringing up a protective barrier. The bones in his forearm hadn't been broken cleanly so much as they had been shattered. Had he been mortal they would have never healed properly. As for him, it would just take a good deal longer to heal. Five minutes might not seem like much, but it could be an eternity when you were trying to fight while you felt the pain of every last membrane healing itself.

"You're the one who brought him here, Arthur," said Scott, eyes glowing again. "Unless you bother to change them don't bring a mortal where they don't belong. They're very...fragile."

The twins and William moved away from him, but didn't call up their power. Why Arthur didn't know. They'd always been happy to gang up on him before. Without them, Scott was no match for him even on a good day. Now even what little he'd done had him pale faced and sweating.

That didn't mean Arthur was about to go easy on him, though. He wouldn't have anyway, but Scott had threatened Alfred.

"Scott."

When the older warlock didn't turn, William stepped in front of him. Folding his arms, the Welch warlock said, "Now isn't the time to fight. Not in your condition. I don't think Arthur should have brought a human here either, but this isn't how to handle it. The fever is getting to your head."

The twins exchanged looks. Arthur kept an eye on them, but still kept his focus on Scott. William's words had made his eyes narrow, clearly not enjoying being talked down. He never had, but then William had always been the calmest of the brothers, the most rational.

Reaching out to put a hand on Scott's shoulder, he locked eyes with him and said, "Put it down, Scott. Now. Before you make yourself worse."

Scott clinched a fist, and for a moment it looked as though he was about to punch William, but then the tension slowly flowed out of him. The light of his magic slowly faded, and it wasn't until then Arthur realized just how bad Scott really looked.

Shoving his brother's hand aside, Scott stalked away. A few minutes later a door slammed. William turned back to Arthur, a somewhat bored look on his face. "He's right, you know. Humans don't belong here. He might be sick but we are not."

The twins separated, slowly circling around from opposite directions. Arthur snarled a warning in Old English, spreading the shield spell to wrap in a full circle. He glanced back over his shoulder, and was surprised to see a grim look of resignation on Alfred's face. Frankly he was surprised the lad had remained in one spot and quiet for as long as he had. With a miracle like that he'd expected either anger or fear. Alfred didn't show either.

"There's a reason we avoid them," William was telling him. "They are a nuisance, troublesome. In your case they're emotionally unhealthy. You get attached too easily, Arthur. You know that whether you've realized it or not. It's why you hide yourself away."

"Shut it, William," warned Arthur, dredging up his little used power. It was the first time he'd done more than lightly tap into it in some time, and he was surprised by how much had accumulated. Mmm, maybe they would be easier to beat than he had thought.

"If you cared enough to defend a human this much-

"-then you should have changed him before bringing him here," the twins told him, baring their teeth in wolfish grins.

"Artie?"

"Not now," snapped Arthur.

"Duck."

Arthur didn't have time to so much as ask, "What?" before something collided with the back of his legs. Taken off guard as they buckled, Arthur found himself knocked flat onto the ground. The shield vanished in a heartbeat. All three of his brothers brought spells to their fingertips.

"No!" he screamed, eyes wide. Time seemed to slow, each heartbeat taking an eternity to pass as he lay there, staring helplessly up at Alfred.

_Thu-thump_. It wasn't until Arthur was staring up at Alfred in horror that he noticed something. The mortal had something in both hands, face set in concentration as he held it up. Arthur had seen it before, but it had been centuries. It was looking glass, a very old one.

_Thu-thump._ Three spells flew forward, all three aiming for Alfred's chest. He held the mirror out, gripping the handle with one hand and bracing the opposite side with the other. Arthur had no idea where he'd gotten it or what he thought it might do. He knew these spells, had used them himself before. They were as crude as the one Scott had through at him, balls of compacted raw power. Each one would been enough to kill five men.

_Thu-thump._ The spells hit the hand mirror. Alfred was thrown back, boots sliding on the granite floor, back slamming into a pillar. The spells pressed against the glass, which flexed briefly, but as Arthur watched it repelled the spells, sending them right back at their casters.

It hit Arthur then where he'd seen the mirror before.

His brothers didn't cry out when their own spells slammed into them, each one thrown bodily off their feet. William crashed back into a pillar as Alfred had, but Arthur distinctly heard his spine crack, and a wash of blood spilled over his shoulders as his skull was split. His chest collapsed entirely under the force of the spell.

Liam, the elder of the twins, skidded back across the floor to crash into the wall. His eyes were wide in surprise, mouth opening as his entire torso was flattened to the wall, but all that came out was blood. It dripped slowly onto his gray sweater as he lay still, unmoving as the spell dissipated.

Dylan, who had always been the quickest of the brothers, only had time to lift his hands in a doomed attempt to block the spell. Every bone in his arms and hands were snapped or shattered as he as knocked bodily off his feet, slamming into a table full of books and notes. The table was split down the middle, papers flying everywhere as the Irishmen slumped, unmoving.

Arthur absorbed all this with a dropped jaw and wide eyes. It had taken all of five seconds to transpire as a whole, and yet...he hadn't beaten more than two of his brothers at a time in over five hundred years, and even then it hadn't been so thoroughly.

"Where, in the bloody hell, did you find that mirror?" he asked slowly.

Alfred dropped to his knees next to the warlock, setting the mirror aside as he did. "What happened to your arm? It's healing right? Does it hurt? Do you need anything for it? The medicine's over there, right?"

Arthur grabbed the lad's arm when he started to stand again, keeping him in place. When Alfred looked back down at him, he said slowly, "I'll be fine, love. Yes it hurts but it will be fully restored in a few minutes or so. Now explain to me just where you got that mirror."

"Oh, uh, Lilly gave it to me. I was going to the kitchens, like I said, but she caught up to me and said I would probably need it. When I asked why she said something about your brothers being jerks. That's when I came to find you."

Arthur chuckled, wincing as the full force of his healing arm pulsed painfully up to his shoulder. "And you didn't bother asking what the damn thing did?"

"No," said Alfred, taking a moment to glance around at the still unmoving Kirkland brothers. "Uh, are they gonna be grumpy when they wake up?"

"They'll get over it. If nothing else they'll be a bit more wary about attacking you. Help me up, would you? I'd rather not be here when they come around."

Alfred stood, reaching down to carefully help Arthur to his feet. He started to lead the warlock out, but Arthur braced his feet. "Forgetting something, love?"

"Oh, yeah, right," said Alfred absently, snagging the mirror from the floor. "So what did it do anyway? Reflect the spells?"

"Yes, it's one of Vash's gifts to Lilly. He spent an entire century filtering magic into it. Now it could probably reflect a dozen of those atomic missiles. I'm not sure how well he'll take to learning it's no longer in her possession. You should return it before we leave. Where are we going? I still have work to do."

"You're tired, Iggy. Besides, bones healing that fast has got to hurt like hell. I know it's morning here, but you've been using a lot of mojo and you didn't exactly get a full night's sleep."

Arthur frowned. He did feel a bit drowsy, but not enough to stop work, he thought. "Since when are you my bloody caretaker? I'll have you know I've used far more magic than this with far less sleep under my belt."

"I don't care, Artie. As your boyfriend I'm concerned with your health, get over it. I'm not going to let you run yourself into the ground."

Arthur glared up at him, but he did notice the fatigue starting to set in. It was an unfortunate side effect to going so long without using magic, he knew. Magic was similar to muscles in that way, if it went too long without use than it took far less to drain the user.

That didn't keep Arthur from glaring down at the hand under his good elbow, pulling him along. "I'll be fine. We don't have any time to waist. Just let me get some tea and something to eat and I'll be-

Alfred had stopped in the middle of his protest, but Arthur hadn't anticipated just what he was planning on doing. It was why he was still talking when the mortal gripped the back of his neck and pulled him closer. Mid-sentence, Alfred bent down and planted a kiss on his mouth, cutting him off.

Arthur's eyes widened slightly in indignation, keeping his still healing arm out to one side, but after a moment gave into it. The warlock let his eyes slide shut, body and mouth relaxing. His good hand came up to clutch Alfred's jacket, keeping him from moving too far away.

Cold marble hit his back, but Arthur barely noticed. Alfred seemed bent on devouring him, though Arthur couldn't bring himself to protest. A small moan slipped out when he felt a hand brace just by his skull, a knee doing the same between his thighs.

"Damn adrenaline," growled Alfred when they came up for air.

The warlock knew he was right, but rather than agree he found himself baring his neck as he gasped for air. Even as the mortal descended on the offered flesh eagerly, Arthur wondered wildly when he had been so submissive. Still...all those years, and he'd always been the one in control, the one wielding the power. It was surprisingly enjoyable to let someone else control things for a change. Even more so when he trusted that person.

"Al-Alfred?" he asked, voice a moan.

"Mmm?" asked Alfred, who was working on a hicky at the base of his neck.

"You should probably get us to our room now."

Alfred groaned, but dragged himself away. At first he pulled himself away just enough to meet Arthur's eyes. The warlock felt his breath catch, and the next second he found himself pulled along back through the halls. It hadn't just been that the blue was almost nonexistent in his lover's eyes, pupils dilated so much there was only a small ring of sky blue around them. It hadn't just been that, it had been the intensity that smoldered in Alfred's eyes. Arthur had seen lust before, and while he'd be lying if he said it hadn't been present, there had also been something else. Something that took him a moment to recognize because he saw it far less.

Alfred pulled him back through the main entrance chamber, up the spiral stair to the second floor, and down a hall. A red carpet was rolled down its length, but after about a hundred feet Alfred made a sharp right. Arthur recognized the area as the main guest rooms, and while he knew everything except which door belonged to them he was content to let Alfred pull him along at a near-run.

Arthur stumbled a little as he was yanked into the sizable bedroom, and quickly found himself shoved back against it as the door was closed, the lock turning as Alfred recaptured his mouth. By now his arm was healed for the most part, the lingering pain mild enough to be ignored, so Arthur wrapped both of them around Alfred's neck.

The mirror clattered as it was set hurriedly aside on the small table by the door. Before Arthur could protest the semi-rough treatment, Alfred as pulling his bag from his shoulder and tossing it next to the mirror. Arthur gasped when Alfred pulled away, guiding him towards a large four-poster bed as he started pulling off his coat.

**INSERT LEMON HERE. WANT TO READ, SEE LINK IN PROFILE.**

Arthur didn't realize he'd nodded off until he felt a hand stroking his hair. Ugg, he'd forgotten just how much using magic tired him out. Then again, he'd never gone so long without using it before. If nothing else, the jiggly sensation in his bones had never been quite so prominent before. Grumbling wordlessly in protest at being woken up, he forced his eyes open just enough to glare at whoever was doing it.

Alfred was on his stomach, chin propped on one hand. When he saw Arthur was awake, the mortal beamed, but the hand didn't leave Arthur's hair. The warlock was vaguely glad of this. It felt nice.

"What?" he grumbled.

"Ludwig came looking for you an hour ago. He said as soon as you woke up you need to get back to work. I would have let you sleep longer, but-

Arthur jerked upright in bed, wincing at the faint and unfamiliar pain in his posterior. He squinted at Alfred, and realized he was dressed again, boots dangling off the side of the bed. "An hour ago? How long have I been sleeping?"

Alfred checked his watch. "I'd say about three hours."

The warlock groaned, jamming a hand through his hair. "Delightful. Please tell me he was the only one that came by?"

"No, just him. Well, Gilbert came over too, but Ludwig was already here. Does he know there's a canary living in his hair?"

Arthur sighed wearily, reluctantly leaving the covers to relocate his clothes. "Yes, love. That would be Gilbird. On occasion the Transformation spell has been used on animals."

Alfred's eyes got big. "Seriously? Like what?"

At least his tunic didn't seem to be too wrinkled, and a quick shake with a light charm returned his pants to a fresh-pressed look. "Ludwig has a few dogs, lurking in the kitchens no doubt. Yao has a small panda, frankly I'm surprised it wasn't in his room. Emil has a puffin, Tino has a puppy I believe, Hanatamago. I think I saw him hiding under Tino's bed."

"Whoa, cool! How come you never did that, Iggy? You wouldn't have been so lonely then."

Arthur synched up his belt, making a face. "As much as I hate to admit it, my brothers did have a point. I have an unfortunate habit of getting attached to things, particularly living things. We did have a few pets when we were younger, dogs and the like. It...I understood the how, and the why, but that didn't make it any less pleasant. Having something I care about die over and over again never had much appeal to me. By the time I was able to work the Transformation spell, I was already going out of my way not to get attached to anything, man or beast."

"Jeez, no wonder you were lonely. Tell you what, even if you don't use that spell on me, promise you'll at least do it on something else? I don't want you being lonely when I'm not around anymore."

Arthur froze. It was the reality he'd been avoiding, and now to have Alfred throw it in his face...

"Iggy? What's wrong?"

Arthur ignored him, walking briskly over to the door. He wrenched it open and slammed it shut behind him, marching back down the hall. He refused to give in to the burning behind his eyes, the tightness in his chest. Arthur knew Alfred was going to die. Eventually he would die himself, everything did sooner or later, but that didn't make it any easier.

How could Alfred talk about it so easily? Arthur couldn't bear to think of the day when he'd have to bury the lad as he had his mother and father. Yet Alfred tossed the idea around as easily as he made dinner suggestions. And after what they'd done no less! Arthur would gladly surrender his own immortality, his own life for Alfred's sake, had made love to him, and still...Alfred was going to die.

Arthur's mind flicked back to Mathew. Even with his heart as heavy as it was, the option of getting rid of Mathew was never considered. No, there was more than one way to skin a cat, as Alfred was fond of saying. What was it he'd said? "If one of the other Magica needs a boyfriend," was it? It was a promising notion, the only problem was he couldn't see Mathew with any of the single Magica. That said, Arthur wasn't above going to Mathew directly if it came down to it. He would gladly use the spell on both of the brothers if it meant keeping Alfred by his side and happy.

Arthur shook himself off, taking a deep breath. He'd try to figure that problem out at a later date. He couldn't let his mind become clouded when they were dealing with the first dangerous threat from humans since he could remember. He'd go to Mathew when it was all over. Alfred wouldn't be happy about it, but it was an anger Arthur was willing to endure.

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	7. Chapter 6

**Shout out to all those awesome reviewers! You are loved and appreciated!**

**Okay, I'm really sorry it took so long to update this thing, and I'll try to have the decency to finish it before I get stuck in another stent of being unable to write. If nothing else I'll at least try to give y'all a warning next time.**

**Any who, while I can't promise a date on the next update, I can promise that it's in the works. The good thing about those little one-shots was that it introduced me to a forgotten drug. There's this delightful tingly sensation in my belly that I get whenever I see a new Favorite, Follow, or Review. _Especially_ reviews. Yeah, I love it, and I forgot how good it felt. :P**

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"What are you doing?" asked Arthur wearily, finally looking up from the latest tome he'd been combing through.

Alfred had repositioned himself yet again in the armchair in the corner. The room itself was one of the many side offices that branched off from the main library. Arthur had gathered half of the research materials and brought them here so he could properly study them without disturbance. Alfred, who had helped carry in a majority of the books and papers, had refused to be booted out. Arthur had let him stay mainly because he'd assumed the lad would fall asleep in the armchair. He hadn't slept like the warlock had, and he had a tendency to doze when he was stuck with something uninteresting. Usually.

After about ten minutes of shuffling around the room and poking at various foreign titles and knickknacks, Alfred had wandered off. Arthur had had about an hour of peace before the mortal had returned, a notable pout on his face. He'd flopped into the armchair, where he'd been for the last hour.

"I'm bored," Alfred complained now. He'd been tossing and shifting in the chair for as long as he'd been in it, showing no signs of the sleepiness Arthur had hoped for. Now he was sitting upside down in the thing, legs draped over the back, his own back in the seat of the chair, head dangling over the edge. Each hand was hooked lazily over the arms of abused chair.

"Go find Gilbert, then. I'm sure he'd love to frolic."

"I did. Then Ludwig drugged him so he'd stay put," pouted Alfred.

Arthur raised his eyebrows slightly, though he wasn't overly surprised. "You remember where the kitchen is, don't you?"

"I'm not hungry."

"There's a first," muttered the warlock.

"Iggy, come on."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just what is it you want me to do?"

"Give me something to do. I want to help."

Arthur opened his mouth to tell the lad there wasn't anything he _could_ do, but stopped. He leaned over, picking his bag up from the floor and sticking an arm into it. He felt around for a moment before finding them, smiling in satisfaction as he pulled them out.

"You need glasses?" asked Alfred, blinking in surprise.

"No. They're for you, love."

"I don't need glasses, Iggy."

"You do if you want to help."

Alfred frowned. "What are a pair of glasses gonna do?"

Arthur smiled. "Come over here and see, love. And for pities sake stop treating the furniture so callously. It's older than you by decades."

Alfred rolled his eyes, but unhooked his legs and rolled easily off the chair, landing on his feet with a thump of boots on stone. Arthur tried not to think too much of the flexibility this demonstrated as he held out the glasses. _Illness first, sex later,_ he told himself sternly.

The American sauntered over to the desk, taking the glasses and unfolding them. He pushed them onto his face, looking around for a moment as if he expected something to change. After a minute he said, "These aren't corrective, Iggy. Nothing's different."

"They're not meant to be corrective, love. They look quite good on you, actually. Try reading this, would you?" asked Arthur casually, holding up a document he knew to be written in German. The glasses _did_ seem to suit Alfred, remarkably so. Arthur knew for a fact that the lad had a decidedly geeky side, one he found endearing. The glasses seemed to fit that side of him, and Arthur found himself hoping Alfred would consider wearing them on a more permanent basis.

Alfred took the old paper, frowning at it. "It's just an update on Swiss security measures. The date on this thing is almost two hundred years old, Artie. Why are you looking at it?"

Arthur chuckled. "Take the glasses off, love, and look at it again."

Alfred obeyed, frowning, but his eyes widened as he stared at the document again. "What the hell? I thought this was in English."

"No. Those glasses are spelled to translate whatever you read into your native language. If memory serves linguistics were never your forte, love. Consider them a gift. Now stop pestering me and start reading."

"Wait, don't you need these?" asked Alfred, frowning as he gestured with the glasses.

"Once you've been around long enough you learn most of the languages in use, if only from boredom if not for necessity. Besides, they're useless to me now. Whenever I wear them they translate things into a very archaic form of Old English. It's been more than a century since I've used the written form of that language, even longer since I've been able to read it without struggling. Now do you want to help, or not? If you keep on like you have been I might have to drug you too."

Alfred pouted, but grabbed a handful of papers and plopped down on the floor. Putting his back to one of the desk legs, he shoved the glasses back onto his nose and got to work. Arthur smiled fondly, returning to his own spread of open books.

The warlock slowly immersed himself in his work, the world around him gradually fading away. He made his way through every book, every document, every sentence with a fine toothed comb. The works and papers themselves were everything from census numbers to medical texts, the dates ranging from recent to five centuries past. Arthur had found that, particularly in the case of medicine, newer wasn't always better. Yes the mortals were discovering new remedies, actually starting to cure forms of cancer, but when it came to less diabolical illnesses, sometimes it didn't take a fancy medication. He was hoping to find that was true in this case. It would be a pain if they had to raid a medical facility to find ingredients for an antidote.

Arthur had a tendency to get lost in his work, and it wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he snapped out of his trance-like state. He started, jerking his head up to find Lilly standing at his shoulder. She smiled kindly, gesturing to the tray of food and drink she'd left on a nearby table.

"Remember to take a break every now and then," she scolded gently. "You've been at it for some time."

"Right, of course," he said, sitting back and running a hand through his hair. Looking down at the desk before him, he found detailed lists and charts written in his own hand. Numbers from census's taken in various parts of the world, treatments or medicines that corresponded to the symptoms shown, and a list of possible diagnoses from which their current sickness could have mutated from.

Arthur was frowning, rubbing his chin thoughtfully when he glanced absently to the floor. He did a double take, and frowned. "Lilly, where's Alfred?"

The girl, who had been halfway to the door, paused. "Oh, he's outside with Ludwig. They're trying to dissect it on a molecular level. It was his idea, actually. They've been at it for two hours."

Arthur lurched to his feet stiffly, frowning. "Molecular level?" he asked absently, coming around the desk. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He knew he had a tendency to get a bit out of it when he really focused on something like this, but normally he didn't come out of it for a day or two, until he'd solved the problem.

"Yes. Alfred suggested that if they could isolate the illness that way, they could compare it to other bacteria and viruses, maybe build an antidote from the ground up. At least that's what I think they're doing. They're not talking."

"Then how are they communicating?"

"Notes, I think."

Arthur frowned, but trailed Lilly to the common area turned medical lab. He noticed that there were several extra machines out that hadn't been there before, but it barely registered. The warlock picked his way through the now crowded area towards the long stainless steel table. Various books and papers were still piled high on it, but the stacks had been shoved to either end. Now the middle was cleared for vials, beakers, Petri dishes, notebooks, and various other lab equipment. Gilbert was sprawled out over a couch off to the side, one leg draped over the back, the opposite arm half on the floor. He was out cold, and it looked like he'd been dumped on the couch. It seemed Ludwig had had to chase him down to drug him, noted Arthur with a wry smile.

Ludwig himself sat on one side of the table, Alfred on the other. The German warlock was staring intently into a microscope, brows knit, fingers carefully adjusting the focus. Alfred sat across from him, scribbling in a notebook before selecting what appeared to be a blood sample. As Arthur watched, he picked up a syringe and took out half of what was in the vial, injecting it into a separate test vial. Once sealed, he held it up briefly before pushing the notebook over to Ludwig. The German paused, studying what was written. After a moment he gave a thoughtful grunt, scribbled something below it, and pushed the notebook back.

Alfred glanced at the written response, and got to his feet. He set the vial down, selecting a book from the middle of a stack and flipping through it. He was still wearing the glasses Arthur had given him, blue eyes intent on his work. He hadn't even noticed the Brit, who had come around to his side of the table.

"What are you doing?" he asked now, curious.

Alfred didn't even flinch. "Whatever it is, it's in their blood. I think we've about got it. The thing's weird, though. It's trying to trick us."

Arthur frowned. "It's not alive, Alfred."

"Yeah, it is. Bacteria is alive and so is this virus." He closed the book, grabbing another and flipping it open. Arthur peered over his arm as he did. It was in Greek, a translated scroll written well over five hundred years ago.

"Care to elaborate, love?"

"You can make it go to sleep, go inactive, but we want to kill it, get rid of it completely. Or not. If Gilbert wasn't infected I think Ludwig would want to keep a strain alive to study. Anyway, as long as it's active, it's alive. And it's tricky, like rabies. Ya know how anything infected has this insane fear of water? The virus itself can be transmitted through saliva, but it doesn't last long outside it's host, especially in water. It hates water, so it gives its host a fear of water."

Arthur frowned. Yes he'd known about that particular symptom of rabies, but he'd never studied it. To be honest he had never taken much of an interest in medicine for its own sake.

"If you say so. But from what I understand it doesn't seem as though this virus dislikes water."

"No," said Alfred absently, brow furrowing as he ran a finger down a page. "I think it must come in some sort of powder. Tasteless probably, if they got warlocks to ingest it without noticing anything. Must have put it on or in the package they left for Scott. My guess is the Asian kid was the one to dose Yao and Kiku."

"Oh?" asked Arthur, arching his eyebrows. "How would you guess that? They haven't been lucid since you've arrived."

"No, but think about it. 55% of the world's population is Asian, at least in ethnicity. Both Yao and Kiku were still in their native countries, really deep in rural areas. An Asian kid would have drawn less attention than the other one. Ludwig hasn't talked to Ivan yet, but Heracles says Kiku likes to go to villages to pickup groceries and stuff. It wouldn't have been that hard."

As he talked, Alfred went back to the microscope, dumping the book next to it. He scribbled down what appeared to be an equation of some sort, and pushed it back over to Ludwig. As the German studied it, Alfred asked, "Any idea where I can find some willow?"

Arthur frowned. "The plant?" he asked, even as it clicked. Willow, particularly white willow, was one of those plants people had taken as a remedy for things such as fever and inflammation. It had been popular in the 16th and 17th centuries, and Arthur himself had taken it on more than one occasion when he had discovered it wasn't some quack idea.

"I'll see if Lilly has any," he said, turning to leave.

"See if you can't find some lavender and chamomile while you're at it," added Alfred, flipping back through the book. "Preferably oils."

"Right." That was actually a decent idea. While chamomile tea was known for its calming effect, lavender had been more popular in Roman and Elizabethan times. Each one worked better than any sort of sleeping tablets, doing wonders to calm a person down. Maybe they could lay off the modern medicine if they could induce a restful state more naturally, or at the very least refrain from tying their patients to the bed.

Lilly did, in fact, have all three plants. While not as proficient as Yao or Kiku, she did like to keep a supply of remedies and herbs on hand. Even Arthur did that much, but she had a rather large store room set aside for such things. It was quick work to grab what Alfred had requested and walk briskly back to the library.

"If we're going to try to dose them we should probably wait until their current meds are through their systems," said Arthur as he returned, lugging a wooden box of various bottles. "I took the liberty of getting citric acid and turmeric paste as well."

"Thanks Artie," said Alfred, getting to his feet to relieve him of the box. The warlock blinked, a bit startled when the lad gave him a casual peck on the cheek before setting the box on the table.

Taking out one of the jars of citric acid, he held it up to the light, making a thoughtful noise. "Hey, Ludwig? Does Gilbert like orange juice?"

The German lifted his head from a thick text that had to be at least three hundred years old. He frowned, but before he could answer a drowsy voice said, "The Awesome me can speak for my awesome self."

Arthur turned to see Gilbert slowly righting himself on the couch, rubbing his eyes groggily. "Not awesome, West."

"It was for your own good. He likes oranges and lemons and limes." Getting off his stool, the blond stretched and started down the hall. "Feli has been looking for something to do. I'm sure he'd be happy to clear out every store on the mountain for us."

"Wait what?" asked Gilbert, lurching to his feet. He swayed, almost falling on his face before dropping back down to the couch. It seemed that while he was conscious, whatever Ludwig had given him was still in his system.

"We're going to pump you full of liquids and smother you in paste," said Alfred cheerfully. "That is assuming it works. Even if it doesn't, natural antibiotics won't kill you."

"The Awesome me is fine," argued Gilbert, even as he failed to stand upright for the second time.

"No, you're not," argued Arthur, folding his arms. "You're pale, even for you. You're running a fever and you're getting weaker."

Gilbert glared at him, but kept his mouth shut as he waited for the effects to fade.

"Hey, Iggy? Mind going around and seeing if anybody has sensitivity to citric acid? Most people don't, but it doesn't hurt to check."

Arthur glanced at him, only to find Alfred once more completely focused on his work. He was adding water a drop at a time into a small beaker he'd already poured some of the sand-like citric acid into. As he turned to go Gilbert asked wearily, "What's that Italian going to be buying up?"

"Orange juice. Lemonade. Limeade. Grapefruit juice," answered Alfred distractedly. "Chicken soup, too."

Gilbert flopped back onto the couch, groaning. "So not awesome. Is this what it's like when you mortals get sick?"

"Pretty much. Oh, you might want to eat some of those bananas. The meds should be out of your system by now, but we barrowed a few pints of your blood while you were out. Ludwig said you wouldn't mind."

_"Was?!"_

Arthur chuckled, knocking lightly on Yao's door before opening it. It had been a while since the geeky side of Alfred had surfaced. He was surprised by how little it had changed, even from when he was a twelve year old working on a science fair product. The science had gotten more complex, the scientist older, but the intensity hadn't faded. Better still, Alfred was still good at it. Arthur remembered quite vividly having the boy come barging into his house three years in a row, waving a blue first place ribbon.

_This is no science fair, but if he continues to treat it as such, perhaps we have a chance,_ he thought. _At the rate he seems to be going, we won't even have to put Gilbert under._

**BREAK/BREAK\BREAK**

Six hours later, Arthur was helping Feliciano maneuver several large crates through the tunnels. The crates themselves weren't that large, but there were at least a dozen of them and they were stacked onto two wheeling carts hooked together. Alfred had run some tests, and while the citric acid wasn't the complete remedy, he insisted it had had an effect on the blood sample they'd gotten from Yao. Apparently they'd gotten similar effects from the other substances Arthur had fetched from the store room, among others.

"We're chipping away at it!" he'd said excitedly. "Everything we throw at it counteracts a little of it. We haven't found a cure, but with everything we find that beats a little bit of the virus we have another component to build one."

It took some convincing, but Roderich agreed to go without drugs a little longer in order to remain a conscious test subject. Elizabeta was hovering over him, making sure he kept drinking at least one of the beverages chock full of citrus acid. He was taking it better than Gilbert, at least, who was grumbling with every paste or oil they made him smear over his skin. Tino was the only cheerful one of the invalids, coaxing Berwald into letting him sit in a comfortable chair in their makeshift lab rather than remain in his room. The Swede warlock had only agreed because Tino insisted he'd feel better, and he'd still be chugging orange juice. When Arthur had left to help bring the crates in the Fin was contentedly across from Gilbert, petting the dog in his lap with one hand and holding a cup in the other.

"Should we take these to the kitchen or to the lab?" Feliciano called across the crates.

Arthur glanced at the nearest label. This one, at least, held oranges. "Best take them to the lab. Save them all that walking."

"You don't think they'll spoil? I still do a lot of cooking but it's been a while since I've done much with citrus fruits."

"Considering we want them for their acid content I doubt we need to worry about them spoiling."

"Good point. How have you been, ve~? Ludwig said you have a boyfriend."

Arthur blushed, as it was the first time someone had used that term though he was hardly going to deny it. Ignoring the grumble in the back of his mind that Alfred was more than just a mere courting companion, as the term 'boyfriend' suggested, he said "Yes, I do."

Feliciano beamed. "That's wonderful! I'm happy for you, Arthur! Are you going to change him? Then you can both be as happy as me and Ludwig."

Arthur found himself utilizing endless practice to keep a grimace from his face. "It's...complicated."

The Italian warlock frowned. "What? Why?"

"It is, all right?" snapped Arthur. "Now either shut up about it or move these crates yourself."

Feliciano didn't look very pleased with this, but he also obviously didn't want to maneuver the cart himself. He switched topics after that, and Arthur tuned him out. Just because he'd long since accepted that the German did seem to fit the Italian didn't mean that even after over two hundred years he had any idea how this was remotely possible. At least Yao and Ivan at least made some sense, but the Italian twins were something of an irritating mystery to him. How could two people who had worked under impressive mortals such as da Vinci and Michelangelo still be content pretending to be clueless most of the time? When they wanted to, each had just as much talent, skill, and power to match any force that had to be dealt with. On the very rare occasion they worked together, Arthur had seen them send entire armies packing, aid the success of the first spacecrafts. Once Feliciano had personally restrained the tides for a short period of time. Doing it at all was a fete that could easily kill a lesser Magica, but he'd done it and survived with only a few days in bed. Admittedly it was for the silly reason of trying to prove to Lovino he could to do it, but still.

By the time they got the crates to the lab, Feliciano was still chattering away, and Arthur's irritation was reduced to being only at the crates, and only for being so bloody difficult to maneuver. Gilbert was hanging over the back of the couch at the waist, mouth open as he snored. Gilbird, who usually selected Gilbert's current highest body part for a perch, had settled on his backside. Tino was dozing, Alfred and Ludwig still hard and work.

Once the crates were pushed against one wall, Arthur dusted his hands off and went over to see what they were doing. Ludwig was back to the microscope, but Alfred was carefully adding substances a drop at a time to a large beaker.

"What's that, love?"

"Cure 2.0," he said absently. "Gilbert tried Cure 1.0. It didn't work. Not enough kick."

"You're close, then?"

"Yeah. I'm trying a different delivery system this time. I want to see if it'll help it take."

Arthur frowned as Alfred selected a vial from a new set of blood samples. Each set had been labeled by name. He did a double take when he saw who the new batch was from. "Why did you sample your own blood?"

"This thing is going crazy on you guys, but as far as we know it hasn't affected any humans. I put a strain of it in a sample of my blood, and it stayed dormant. I'm mixing the antidote with my blood before I give it to Roderich. I'm O negative, so there shouldn't be any transfusion problems. Ludwig thought it might work. The version we tried on Gilbert was mixed with his own blood, but it didn't seem to help. It's a long shot, but maybe if we introduce blood that's immune, it'll spread or something."

Arthur considered this. It wasn't an unreasonable idea, though he found it concerning that the virus had been specifically engineered to only target Magica. It was good for the human populations, but it said a good deal about their enemy's intelligence and abilities.

Alfred selected a fresh syringe, ripping off the plastic and dipping the needle into the vial. "The good news is, even if we don't have a complete antidote, we might be able to stop progression. Won't have to knock anyone else out," he said, putting the syringe on a tray with a cotton ball coated in alcohol and a rubber ribbon. As he headed for Roderich's door he said, "By the way, I think you guys should start drinking too. Even if you don't have it, you could be at risk. No telling who all they got to before we came here, and Ludwig is still figuring out if it's contagious."

Feliciano made a dash for the kitchen, saying something about getting water and sugar. Arthur sighed, eyeing the crates. He wasn't fond of orange juice, but he liked lemonade well enough.

"How far along are you?" he asked, shrugging off his coat and tossing it over a nearby stool.

Ludwig didn't look up. "Not airborne. Doesn't spread through skin-to-skin contact. Working on liquids, but it seems to stay in a host once planted. It's very odd. If they knew enough to track us down they must have known we'd congregate once we found out we were being targeted."

Arthur frowned, rolling up his sleeves. Had Vash installed a heating system or something? It was rather warm. "Indeed. What can I do?"

When Alfred came back a few minutes later, Arthur had pulled up a spare stool and was perched next to a stack of records at one end of the table. Without looking up the Brit asked, "How did he take it?"

"Won't know for an about half an hour," said Alfred.

Arthur looked up, brows knitting. Alfred sounded off, and when he checked the lad was quickly tossing his current syringe and grabbing another one, replacing the tools on his tray with fresh materials.

"Since when did you become such a good nurse?"

"Mom's one, remember? And she was diabetic, she taught me and Mattie how to be a good stick, just in case. Let me see your arm."

Arthur frowned. "Why? I'm not sick, love."

Alfred glanced at Ludwig, then Tino, who was watching a movie on an iPad, ear buds trailing from his ears. Leaning in and dropping his voice a few levels, Alfred said, "You have a tolerance for temperature that's inhuman, Artie. Twenty to a hundred and twenty, you're in a freakin' suit, coat and all. Look at you, you're taking off your jacket and rolling up your sleeves. You're pail and you're not eating."

"I don't exactly have an appetite when I'm working on-

"Arthur," snapped Alfred, tone harsh. He closed his eyes, took a shaky breath, opening them again before he started to speak. "Look, just...don't argue with me. Let me take a sample. If I'm wrong, you just got stuck with a needle. If I'm right, we get a jump on it."

"Alfred-

"Either you let me, or I'm making you. Your call, Arthur."

Arthur arched his eyebrows. Alfred didn't budge, gaze hard and steady. It occurred to Arthur that he might actually be one of the few people who could force him. Magic or no, he'd instinctively hold back. Even if he didn't...he believed Alfred would win.

Sighing wearily, Arthur rolled his sleeve up above his elbow, offering his arm. Yes he felt hot, and yes he hadn't eaten in a while, but he really did lose his appetite when he got into something like this. He hadn't thought much of it, but he also wasn't used to someone else worrying about him. Alfred had even called him by his actual name, an indication of just how serious he was.

Mrs. Jones had taught him well, Arthur wasn't fond of needles but the process was relatively painless. Alfred took three vials before taking the needle from his arm, lips twitching when the wound didn't produce so much as a trace of blood.

"Just how do you go about testing it, anyway?" asked Arthur as he rolled his sleeve back down.

Alfred didn't answer, face grim as he got to work. Arthur stood back and watched him, mouth set in a grim line. He didn't feel that off, really. Honestly, was a slight temperature that much to worry about? No food, stress of using magic for real for the first time in ages, healing bones, strenuous extracurricular activities...was a slight temperature really that surprising?

The warlock sighed, turning back to the books. He selected one that covered medicines and techniques used by the ancient Egyptians. No sooner had he found the section on fevers than an unintelligible mutter from Alfred made him look up again.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Son of a fucking bitch," he whispered, sitting back and jamming a hand through his hair.

Arthur blinked, startled. Sure Alfred swore, but he usually steered clear of the word fuck. A result of his mother tanning his hide when he'd first discovered and used it when he was twelve. It took a moment for him to realize what this meant, though.

"Bad news then?" he asked grimly.

Red rimmed blue eyes turned to him. "How the hell'd they get to you, Artie? You were in Virginia what, a month? You're a homebody, you hate interacting with people if it can't be helped, and I doubt you hired a moving truck."

"Of course not. And I've never seen either of those boys. Are you sure I've got it?"

Alfred got up, pointing at the microscope, jaw tight. Arthur walked over stiffly, peering through the lenses. "What am I looking at?"

"Blood cells and the virus. See those evil blue things? That's it. And it's in _your_ blood, Arthur. You've got more in you than anybody else. It's amazing you're not in worse shape than Yao by now."

Arthur frowned, calculating as he stepped back. "How could I have gotten so much of it?"

"It's always ingested. Maybe they got it into your tea or something."

"No, I check everything I get before I eat it."

"That spell that makes it glow green for a few seconds?"

"Green means it's safe. You've seen the bloody light, I even check the tea."

Alfred frowned. "Yeah...but not when people can see the light, right? I never saw it until after you told me. When do you not use it?"

"I don't..." Arthur closed his eyes. "Does the fact there's so much mean I got more than one dose?"

"Most likely."

"That bloody canteen." Arthur ran a hand through his hair, the realization hitting him hard. "I don't check if people will notice the light. I only do it because of paranoia anyway. It's never showed anything _but_ green. The only place I've eaten more than once in the last hundred years is that canteen in the hospital you were in."

"So the only reason they got to you is because of me?" muttered Alfred, starting to pace. "Damn it, damn it, _damn it_."

"Alfred-

"No, you managed for the better part of a century and you're still in once piece. I show up, a decade later you're on your way to death by freak virus."

"Alfred, Alfred listen to me." Arthur got in front of Alfred mid-pace, bracing his hands against the American's broad shoulders and locking his legs against the floor. He slid a few feet back before Alfred stopped, but he still wouldn't meet Arthur's eyes.

Scowling, the warlock took Alfred's face in his hands, not moving until he reluctantly met Arthur's gaze.

"Love, listen to me. It's not your fault, do you understand? If it's anyone's, it's mine."

"Arthur-

"Even if it was I _don't bloody care_. Do you understand? Besides, you're well on your way to figuring out the antidote, yes? If you really want to help me, help them, stop panicking and get back to work. I have at least two weeks before it gets worse, remember? You and Ludwig have worked out half the blueprints in six hours. I don't think I'll even get to the blistering stage, love."

Alfred opened his mouth, but his voice cracked before he could even speak. His eyes shone, and his hand shook slightly when he brought it up, pressing his palm to Arthur's cheek. "If it doesn't work we'll have to start from scratch. We don't know anything for sure, we're stabbing in the dark Iggy. People spend years working with trial and error trying to make antidotes. Even if we put you into comas, we might not have that kind of time. Unless we get lucky...

"I'm not dead yet, Alfred. We have time, we have resources. We're not dead yet. This is why I didn't want you to run that bloody test. Why are you so shaken up, anyway? You just came from a war zone for pities sake."

"I didn't have to worry about an enemy I can't shoot killing someone I love in that war zone," whispered Alfred.

Arthur was a little startled, but then relaxed. "And I love you. That's why you can't worry, you have to focus. Alright?"

"Do I get a kiss first?"

The warlock chuckled. If Alfred was feeling up to asking for a kiss, he was going to be fine.

"I thought Ludwig was still running-

Alfred got tired of waiting, steeling the kiss rather than waiting for it. When he stepped back, grinning cheekily, Arthur felt a little dizzy. As Alfred slipped around him, he asked in a slightly dazed tone, "Just where did you learn to do that?"

"I don't kiss and tell, Iggy. Hey, you wanna check on Roderich? It's probably kicking in by now."

Arthur opened his mouth, but nothing came to mind for a change. Shaking his head, he headed for Roderich's room.

* * *

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	8. Chapter 7

**Okay, still not as long as I'd like. (In my defense, its length is more reasonable when the lemon is included.) It's a little harder to get in the mood these days, but I'm doing what I can. Hopefully it won't be another month before the next update.**

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* * *

Arthur was swaying slightly as he sat back in the armchair, dazed. "Did you really need that much?" he asked airily.

"The more we have the faster we can crank out trials," said Alfred, crouching in front of him. "Here, eat. It'll help."

The warlock looked down as Alfred pressed a half peeled banana into his hand. "Why a bloody banana?"

"Potassium, vitamin C, sugar. Eat a few of these and I'll get ya a nice juicy stake."

"No, you need to keep working," mumbled Arthur, taking a lethargic bite.

Alfred ruffled his hair, straightening, ignoring the grumbled protests. "You're cute when you act all drugged."

"Wanker," muttered Arthur, taking another bite.

It had been nearly two days since they'd figured out Arthur was sick. Since then they'd tested all the Magica. So far no one else was sick, but they'd decided to run tests daily, just to make sure. At least Ludwig had concluded that, once ingested, the virus wasn't contagious.

The antidote Alfred had initially tried on Roderich hadn't cured him. Tests showed it had had the most effect of everything they'd tried, but he still had the virus in his system. From what they could tell, giving the antidote via a blood strain that also carried immunity was going to be the best delivery system. Cure 2.0 hadn't worked completely, but the progression of Roderich's virus had been stopped in its tracks. They'd administered the same serum to everyone, just to be on the safe side. There was even talk of bringing Yao or Kiku out of it to see if they were any more lucid.

Arthur helped where he could, but Alfred swung between trying to get him to rest and working madly on an antidote. Before he'd taken blood samples, Arthur had seen just how much it was wearing on his lover. Working for up to days on end was something he himself was well equated with. Alfred, tough as he was, wasn't immune to a potent combination of work and stress.

As the warlock waited for his own dazed state to dissipate, he watched as Alfred returned to the main lab table. Dark rings had set in under his eyes, both of which looked weary. The glasses were still perched on his nose as he worked. Arthur was glad he'd kept them, even if they had served no function to begin with. Well, under normal circumstances anyway. He knew working with several different people who each tended to write in a different language would be difficult otherwise.

"Need to rest too, lad," he said carefully, once he'd finished the banana.

"I'm fine," said Alfred absently, staring intently into his microscope.

"No. You're not. You need to rest, love."

"Iggy-

"We're used to this. You're not."

"It's part of my training, Artie. I can go a few days without sleep. Don't worry about it."

"I don't care, Alfred. You need rest. It's been nearly three days. You haven't slept at all."

"Arthur, I'm fine."

"He's right."

Both turned to look at Ludwig, who was studying Alfred with a grim set to his mouth.

"You're no good to us if you're struggling like this," the German informed him sternly. "Go, rest. Eat something while you're at it. We can go for weeks if need be. You're human, and you're being extremely useful. But that is only if you're in good condition. Now go, both of you."

Alfred hesitated, and Arthur got to his feet carefully. He tangled a hand in Alfred's shirt, tugging him off the stool. Reluctantly, Alfred let himself be led down the hall, shuffling along. By the time they reached the stairs, Arthur was recovered from the blood loss completely and was marching smartly along. If he hadn't been sure before, he was now. Ludwig wasn't the sort of person to give slack easily. If he decided Alfred needed a break, he _really_ needed a break, whether he wanted one or not.

"Not tired," mumbled Alfred as he was pulled into their room.

Arthur gave him a dirty look as he pushed him down onto the edge of their bed. He knelt, and started wrestling with the heavy boots. Despite his protests, Alfred didn't resist.

"Don't lie to me, lad. You're dead on your feet."

"How can I sleep?" protested Alfred. "They're sick, _you're_ sick. This thing eats away at you, I can't just-

"You heard Ludwig, you're no use to him unless you're in good condition."

"I can't sleep knowing it's still happening and I'm not _doing_ anything," blurted Alfred, blue eyes damp behind his glasses.

Arthur sighed, straightening. "Alfred, you need to. Even if it's just for a few hours. You will, don't worry."

"Don't use any sleep spells on me," was the immediate protest, Alfred leaning away.

The warlock regarded him sadly. "If it comes to that, I will. But I was going to get you to sleep another way. Don't give me that look, love, you'll like it."

"What?"

Arthur delicately plucked the glasses from his lover's nose, setting them aside. He slid a hand under Alfred's t-shirt, and he saw understanding light his eyes as he bent down for a kiss. Even though it was returned, the human still managed to get in, "Should we be doing this if you're sick?"

"All the more reason to do it," Arthur said simply, tugging the t-shirt off. That done, he returned the glasses to Alfred's nose.

"You know if you'd just said outright you were going for post coital coma I wouldn't have complained so much," Alfred informed him, then shook his head. "I've been reading _way_ too many med books."

That said, he leaned up, catching Arthur's mouth in another kiss.

**[][][]LEMON BREAK[][][]**

**To read, go to: archive [no space] of [no space] our [no space] own [slash] users [slash] Inkblooded [_] Witch [slash] works**

**Ha! Finally got it!**

**[][][]LEMON BREAK[][][]**

The next time Arthur woke, he felt hot. At first he just rolled away from the warm body he was settled against, but that didn't help. He made to push off any covers he might be under, but his hands only met bare skin.

Finally, reluctantly, Arthur opened his eyes. He looked down, and realized they were still on top of the blankets. Alfred was still out. Arthur rolled out of the bed, stumbling over to the cargo pants on the floor. Feeling a little light headed, he bent down and picked them up.

He swayed a little as he straightened, so he lurched back to lean against the bed before rummaging through Alfred's pockets. It was easy enough to find his phone, which the human had turned off to reserve the battery. Once it was turned on, displaying the time, Arthur guessed that they'd only been out for a few hours.

The warlock turned the phone back off, returning it to the cargo pocket. Arthur dropped them back onto the floor, but then pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. What was wrong with him? He'd gone from hot and dazed to freezing and woozy.

Fumbling back into his clothes, Arthur grabbed his coat, stuffing his arms into it and zipping it up to his chin. Deciding to let Alfred sleep a bit more, grabbing a blanket and tossing it over his still naked lover. Then he tiptoed out of the room, closing the door quietly.

Once outside, he started making his way back towards the unofficial sick ward. Arthur made it about halfway when he ran into Elizabeta, who was returning to the kitchen with an empty bowl. Arthur guessed it was chicken soup, one of the foods now being forced down their throats. He'd had nothing against it to start with, but he was quickly getting tired of it himself.

Elizabeta beamed when she saw him, asking cheerfully, "Alfred finally getting some sleep?"

Arthur smiled wearily. "Yes, finally. Let's not wake him, though? You wouldn't believe how hard...

He trailed off, bracing a hand against the nearest wall. Arthur felt himself shivering, even as a drop of sweat rolled down his temple. He heard Elizabeta asking him something, but he wasn't quite sure what it was. She sounded very far away, and it took all his concentration just to make a controlled decent to the floor. Arthur felt the icy stones meet his knees through the khaki fabric, right before the shadows closed in around him.

**BREAK/BREAK\BREAK**

Alfred had been somewhat infamous growing up for being very hard to wake up. The only exceptions being occasions like Christmas and his birthday, when there were special breakfasts and presents to wake up for. Any other day, Mathew was usually tasked with waking him up for school. Despite the blaring alarms he'd set for himself, rigorous shaking from his brother, and occasional smells from breakfast, it was always a massive task to wake him up.

While he was still a deep sleeper, it took far less to wake Alfred up these days. It was something no amount of training had fixed, but single week in a war zone had permanently ensured. So when a hand first grabbed his shoulder, his eyes flew open. He grabbed the hand by the wrist, twisting it backwards as he sat up. In the same movement, he was grabbing for the Glock he'd stashed under his pillow when he'd first dropped his bag off. Arthur didn't know about it, or if he'd noticed he hadn't said. Normally Alfred would have left it in the nightstand or something since he wasn't alone, but he reasoned that even if Arthur did set it off it wouldn't kill the warlock. Not that he liked the idea of Arthur shooting himself, so he tried not to think about it much.

Ludwig looked surprised, eyes narrowing as he stared down the gun's barrel. It took a minute, Alfred's heart still hammering against his ribs, but he slowly lowered the gun. "Sorry," he muttered, releasing his grip on Ludwig's wrist.

"Good reflexes," the Magica observed. "We need you in the ward."

Running a hand back through his hair, setting the Glock aside, he asked, "How long was I out?" A quick survey didn't indicate he'd been out for long. He didn't feel overly rested, which he could work with easily enough. It just didn't make since considering everyone seemed so eager to get him out in the first place.

"Almost four hours. You need more, but we can't afford it now."

Alfred glanced around, slipping from the bed as he kept the blanket around his waist with one hand. His clothes were still scattered around, but Arthur's were gone. So was Arthur himself. "Why, what happened? Where's Arthur?"

"In one of the rooms. That's why I came to get you."

Suddenly decency didn't seem so important anymore. Tossing the blanket, Alfred scrambled for his clothes. "What happened?"

"We don't know. It should have been two weeks before it got worse."

Alfred stumbled, one leg in his pants. "Wait, _what?"_

"He collapsed in the hall. The rashes are appearing and- Alfred, slow down."

Ignoring the German, Alfred sprinted out of the room, barely remembering to finish putting his shirt on as he ran. He ignored the irate sounding Magica behind him, the cold stones under his bare feet. Running off headlong like this went against his training, but this wasn't Afghanistan, wasn't a base. There was no one here to give him orders, and a battle plan was whatever he could scrap together. In this case, it only went as far as _find Artie_. That was all that mattered, all he could think about.

Frankly everything from there to when he skidded into the sick ward was a blur. As soon as he reached it he blurted, "Where is he?"

Gilbert, Tino, Lily, and Vash were the only ones in the main area. All were grim faced, but it was Lily who said quietly, "The room next to Tino."

Alfred made for the door, blood ringing in his ears. He didn't bother to knock, shoving it open. He closed it absently, staring at the bed.

Arthur had been looking pale, but now he looked clammy. He was lying under the sheets, eyes closed, sandy blond hair damp against his brow. His sleeves were unbuttoned at the wrists, one pushed up from where someone had taken his vitals. Part of a spreading pink rash was visible on his forearm, another on his neck.

Slowly, dazed, Alfred shuffled forward. As he did, Arthur's eyes flickered open. They looked hazy, but it only took a second for them to focus on Alfred.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," the Brit mumbled.

Sinking to his knees next to Arthur's bed, Alfred reached out, feeling his forehead. He was burning up. "You're on fire, Arthur," he said quietly.

The warlock smiled wryly. "I appreciate the complement, love, but it's a bit out of context."

"Arthur," said Alfred warningly. "What happened? It's only been two days."

"It's just a fever, love, it's not-

"You've got the rashes, Artie. You're going downhill fast. It should be two weeks, not two days."

Arthur frowned. "That's...I don't understand. I had more of the virus but the incubation period was longer. Why?"

Alfred swallowed tightly, mind racing. "I don't know. Arthur, I..." He paused, taking a shaky breath as his voice cracked. "I don't know why, but I can't risk letting it get any more traction. We're going to have to put you under."

"I still recognize you, love. I don't feel well but I am lucid. Shouldn't we wait-

"It's not something I'm willing to gamble on, Arthur."

"Alfred, the longer I'm conscious the more useful I can be."

"I don't care, Artie. You're not alone anymore, you can't make calls like that."

"It's my life we're talking about here-

"It's not just yours!" snapped Alfred, vision starting to blur. "Why don't you get that?" He got to his feet, pacing angrily. "Remember that one letter I sent you? The one where I lost my first teammate? I couldn't tell you the details, now I can. You know why he died? Huh? We rotated out guard duty, it's protocol. Sometimes the people we were guarding went to more dangerous places than others. One day our buddy Sam was scheduled to guard a convoy going through Bagdad. It was high risk, journalists the local extremists weren't too crazy about getting out of the most dangerous part of the city. Tony talked him into switching with him, because he had a low risk post on the next rotation. You know why? Sam had a wife back home, and two kids. A two year old son and a six month old daughter. He'd talk about 'em to anyone who'd listen. Tony just had his old man back home. He talked Sam into switching, which you're not supposed to do. Next day the convoy gets hit, Tony gets shot.

"Sam didn't know he'd get shot, neither did Tony. No one did. He hated Tony got killed, but if you ask him he'd tell you he wouldn't change anything. He hates himself for it but it's true, and none of us blame him. If you could ask Tony he'd say the same thing. You know why? Sam didn't just have himself to worry about. That's how it works, Arthur."

The warlock waited out the rant in silence, face tight. Once Alfred was done, he said, "I read all the reports you and your team were involved in, love. I know what happened. What makes you think telling me will change my mind?"

"I'm trying to get you to understand you're not alone anymore. And if you're not alone, you can't think like it. I'm not letting you die because you're stubborn, Arthur. I don't care if it's for a good cause."

Alfred stopped pacing to stare at Arthur, face pleading. Arthur had to understand, he had to. The human knew that centuries of habits were hard to break, but it wasn't impossible. It couldn't be. He might not live for long if Arthur got through this alive, but he wanted to make every day count.

"Artie...Arthur, please." Alfred wasn't in the habit of begging for things, aside from playful pleas for a trip to McDonalds or one more kiss. Now he found himself willing to get back on his knees if it would make Arthur agree.

The warlock closed his eyes slowly, tilting his head back against the pillows he was propped up on. He took a deep, shaky breath, and whispered, "Very well. Just...could you wait a few hours? Let me help a little more."

"Artie-

"Stay with me and help me. I'll do what you wish, if you give me more time with you. That's all I ask, love."

Alfred stared at Arthur, torn. He was desperate to put Arthur under, to buy him as much time as possible. That said, he'd never seen the warlock like this before. Tired, weak, afraid. Arthur looked _afraid_. Alfred might have been able to push it, but not when Arthur was looking at him like that. Whatever was happening, it had the warlock scared he wouldn't last much longer. It broke Alfred's heart to see him like this.

"Let me...talk to Ludwig. I want some antibodies in you before you do anything else. And lemonade. Lots of lemonade."

Arthur smiled weakly. "You did manage to get some limes too, didn't you? I'm getting tired of lemonade."

Slumping a little, an agreement reached, Alfred came back over to the bed. He bent down, kissing Arthur's forehead gently. "A big shot and an even bigger jug of limeade, coming up Artie."

**BREAK/BREAK\BREAK**

Arthur was sitting cross-legged on his bed, papers spread out over his blankets. Alfred had switched from biomechanics to trying to track down the two boys who'd supposedly delivered the virus. He'd set up shop in Arthur's room, jury-rigging computers together on a couple of folding tables. He'd spent several hours tracking down every security camera that any of them could have possibly passed by, and had three separate computers running facial recognition software, searching the crowds. He was currently putting together a similar search based on information he'd gotten from Roderich and Gilbert.

Apparently the blond boy had a very obvious British accent, and the one with Asian blood obviously wasn't a native English speaker. He was very fluent, but the heavy accent was distinctive, defiantly Chinese. A much broader spectrum, but it was better than nothing.

"There are a lot more Brits around than I thought there were," said Alfred absently, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "What, because England isn't as bloody big as America doesn't mean-

"Chug, Artie. Chug, chug, chug, chug!"

The warlock outright scowled at the chant. But he still reached for the large cup sitting on the rolling tray by his bed. "Can't you give this to us in an IV drip or something?"

"Maybe. Keep drinking, Iggy."

"What do their accents have to do with anything? I'll drink if you talk, Alfred."

The human sighed wearily, leaning back in his chair. "I figured I'd start with schools and work out from there. See if I can't track them down that way. Everything's digital these days, including yearbook photos. I'll start there."

"Do I want to know how you're doing that?"

"Probably not," Alfred admitted. "Who knew hacking cheat codes would come in handy some day for real?"

Arthur shook his head, then turned back to the papers. "Don't forget passport photos. If they use human transport, then they will need to get through customs just like everyone else."

"That's my next step. I'll find 'em Artie, don't worry."

"Refresh my memory, why _did_ you change tack?"

"They've got momentum on the cure, but if we can track down its source we won't need to make one ourselves. We can find this son of a bitch, go get him, get what we need, and bring it back. No one is stupid enough to make any sort of biological weapon without an antiviral. We're going on the assumption Magica are behind this, so they'd really need a failsafe in case they got exposed."

Arthur frowned. "They could have been hiding for months, years, or decades, and we haven't found them yet. No offense, love, but what makes you think we can now?"

"You weren't actively looking for them, Arthur," said Alfred, windows flickering across his screen. "It sounds like all you guys spent the last few centuries avoiding each other, hiding away in a bunch of different countries. When it came to everything Magica related, you had your heads in the sand."

The warlock frowned, but couldn't bring himself to protest. He might not like it, but Alfred wasn't exactly wrong. That said, they'd had reasons for it. "Do you know what happens when Magica are together or interact for an extended period of time, love?"

"Nuh-uh," said Alfred absently.

"Pompeii would be a good example, I think."

Alfred turned to look at him, eyebrows arched incredulasly. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Feliciano and Lovino were having a fight. Something about Antonio, I can't remember. But yes, that's how it ended. I remember quite distinctly. We're what you might call volatile, Alfred. It's not healthy for the humans to have us together rubbing one another the wrong way."

The human still looked completely stunned. "They...do you have any idea how many people died? Suffocated under the ash? The heat? They...the _twins_ did that?"

Arthur nodded solemnly. "We actually interacted quite regularly before then. But there had been problems before. Pompeii was a deal closer, if you will."

Alfred was silent for a minute, still looking a bit stunned. "I guess I could see Lovino doing that, but not Feliciano. He's so...

"Happy? Normally, yes. From what I understand he went through a few decades of depression after that. He was horrified, they both were."

Running a hand back through his hair Alfred asked, "Okay, so you had a pretty good reason for having your head in the sand. But still. Give me a little time, I'll find them."

Arthur smiled faintly. He'd seen better days, to be sure. He was tired, running a high fever, clammy, the rash itched, and he was getting quite tired of chugging citrus-based beverages. The warlock wished he could do more before they sedated him, but he also knew Alfred wouldn't let him go any longer.

He knew he should be annoyed with Alfred, and it if had been anyone else he would have been. But Arthur couldn't bring himself to be upset with Alfred, not about this. How could he? Arthur loved him dearly, and the sentiment was obviously returned. As much as Arthur was afraid of succumbing to this, he loved Alfred more. He wanted to stay conscious, to help and be with the human for as long as he could, and he'd been quite set on it.

Frankly it was pathetic how easily he'd given in. Arthur was not a warlock who was easily swayed. Then again, he'd never been faced with a desperate, teary eyed Alfred before. For Alfred, Arthur would move mountains. Or, in this case, let himself be drugged indefinitely.

What was that word? There was a word for this, he knew. He'd heard it several times in America. What was it? Ah, whipped. That was it.

Yes, he was whipped. But he didn't care.

* * *

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	9. Chapter 8

**Well, at least it didn't take a month. I was trying for an early update time, but nothing this fast. It just kind of...happened. Ah well, it's here, and its one of my longest chapters yet. :P**

**That said, please don't expect updates this fast in the future. This was something of a (good) fluke. I try not to make promises if I can't deliver.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Alfred bent over the microscope, fingers slowly adjusting the focus. It took a little longer than it should, tired eyes straining, but at last the cells came into sharp contrast. His mouth pressed into a tight line, Alfred lifted a dropper with his free hand, carefully adding the tiniest amount of serum to the cells.

"Well?" asked Lukas, face grim as he stood at Alfred's elbow.

"Give it a sec," Alfred muttered.

The Norwegian Magica, who until recently had been out with several others on a text-collecting mission around the globe, had been the one to present this idea. He was even shorter than Arthur, seemed to poses very few facial expressions, and had kicked out his Danish partner without batting an eye at his protests. "You're too rowdy. Go guard something. Let us work," he'd told Matthias. The Dane had pouted, but obeyed.

Lukas had been the one to suggest the latest experiments, a new cause for Arthur's accelerated progression. It was the one Alfred was currently testing. It was also the experiment everyone was keeping an eye on while trying not to hover. The human didn't have to look up to know the Magica were holding their breath.

It had been three very long days since Arthur had been put under. Alfred had sat by his bedside, holding his hand as Ludwig gave him the I.V. He remembered smiling tightly, eyes burning as Arthur returned it. Alfred knew it was as much about the virus as it was getting put under. For a Magica, especially one that had lived so long, endured so much while working alone, it went against instinct to allow himself to be put in such a vulnerable position. To be rendered unconscious for a undefined period of time, to be completely helpless. Honestly the only reason Arthur had even agreed was because it was Alfred who'd asked it of him, and the human knew it.

The two handed hold Alfred had served two purposes. It provided comfort for them both, but it also allowed Alfred to monitor Arthur's pulse. Hazy green eyes had gradually fluttered closed as the rhythm in his veins slowed, his heart rate going down. Once he was out completely, Alfred had risen, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "I'll find 'em, Iggy," he'd whispered. "I promise."

Alfred's programs were still running. The few hits he'd gotten were being investigated by those not yet sick and willing to risk trips outside. When he wasn't hovering by Arthur's bedside or at the computers he was rejoining the feverish effort for a cure. He'd heard the Magica muttering about drugging him so he'd get a few more hours of rest, but they hadn't tried it yet.

Eyes straining, Alfred watched as the new serum interacted with Arthur's blood sample. He held his breath as the two connected, then mixed. Then, after a few very long seconds, he whispered, "That's it."

Lukas grabbed blood samples from the other infected Magica, quickly applying them to more slides as Ludwig started taking more drops from the beaker of serum.

"See if the effect is the same," said the German, face grim. "I hope it is not, for all our sakes."

Alfred leaned back, slowly scrubbing at his face with shaky hands. The serum had been extracted from blood drawn while Berwald had used magic. It was essentially the chemical reaction their bodies had when they used their power on a molecular level. When applied to Arthur's blood sample, the virus had multiplied at an unbelievable rate. More than double what was normal.

Magic was the trigger. The virus in Arthur's veins didn't seem any different than the others, but when exposed to the magic-induced serum, it went nuts. Whatever it was, magic caused the massive boost. Every time he so much as moved a teacup an inch, the virus would accelerate.

Alfred thought back to all Arthur had used recently, remembering all too well how Arthur had been doing so far more than usual. While masquerading as a human, aside from experiments, he usually used his power very little. But ever since he'd told Alfred, he'd been using it quite freely. The witch lights, the phone, the tea-to-coffee, the transportation, the fight with his brothers, the healing, even those stupid belts their last night together. Every time he'd used magic, both a little and a lot. Each time, the virus had been able to grow in leaps and bounds.

The human didn't look up until he felt a hand on his shoulder. When he did, he met the grim blue eyes of the Norwegian Magica. "No reactions," he said, taking his hand away. "Arthur's was the only one."

Alfred shook his head, trying to focus. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would his be the only one?"

"These people are too smart," Ludwig said slowly, looking uneasy as he paced on the other side of the table. "It was intentional. Arthur was targeted, specifically. But why?"

"What makes him different from any of you guys?" asked Alfred, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. Ugg, he'd been tiered before, but now it was a battle to keep his eyes open.

"We will work on that. For now, you will rest," Lukas was saying.

"I'm not tired," Alfred protested, even as he swayed on his stool. "What'd you do to me?"

"Sleep spell. Let it work, human."

Alfred tried to protest, but his heavy eyes slid closed. He felt himself fall backwards off the stool, only for a set of hands defiantly not belonging to the small Norwegian to hook under his arms. Above him, a voice that took him a minute to place as Matthias's said, "You heard him. You've done a lot, human. Now sleep."

Alfred was out before he could even consider punching either one of them.

**BREAK/BREAK\BREAK**

The next time he opened his eyes, Alfred was lying on a cot erected in Arthur's room. He lurched to his feet, stumbling over to the warlock to check on him first. Satisfied Arthur was still doing well in his medically induced coma, he shuffled towards the door, yawning.

When Alfred opened it, he found a flurry of activity. Quickly stepping out and shutting the door, he grabbed the nearest Magica that rushed by. In this case, it was Feliciano.

Trying very hard not to think about Pompeii, he demanded, "What's going on? How long have I been out?"

"Eight hours. Luddy and Lukas found the next piece of the antidote, but your searches helped us find a hiding place the mean children used. It was in Mexico, but it was booby trapped, and they were gone. They blew everyone up! They're still recovering!"

Alfred let Feliciano go, his grip going slack. Swallowing tightly against the bile rising in his throat, he stumbled towards the area now holding multiple cots. It was hard to remember that Magica were impossible to kill, at least with human tools. But if this enemy was able to make a virus that got Magica sick, wouldn't they be smart enough to make a booby trap that would kill them?

He got his answer when he reached the cots. For a minute Alfred was back in Afghanistan, in the med tent, staring at the remains of a patrol hit by an IED. He braced a hand on the nearest pillar, a cold sweat rolling over him. There were six total, all of whom looked like they shouldn't even be breathing. It wouldn't have been so bad, it shouldn't be, or so Alfred thought. They weren't soldiers, weren't technically even his friends. Most had still referred to him as 'human' or 'Arthur's human'. Austin had been the only acceptation to this, a Transformed human himself from Australia.

Alfred slowly looked from cot to cot, putting a name to each Magica, taking in their wounds. Austin, Antonio, Matthias, Natalia, Able, Sadiq. Lilly and Katyusha, a buxom Ukrainian who claimed to be Ivan's older sister, were flitting about, trying to clean wounds and apply healing magic.

Bell, Abel's little sister, was blinking rapidly as she pulled nail after rusty nail from her brother's leg. The big Magica from the Netherlands had ignored Alfred for the most part, but Bell, who hailed from Belgium, had been nice. Lovino's eyes were red and puffy from crying, and he was keeping a cool cloth pressed to Antonio's forehead. The Spaniard was sleeping restlessly, not that Alfred could blame him. He didn't know how long ago this had happened, but if Ivan's heart had fixed itself in a few minutes, a lost arm should be back by now, right? Antonio's right limb looked like it had been blown off from the shoulder, if the gapping, bloodied hole in his shirt was any indication. But it was healing at a painfully slow pace. No doubt a large amount of drugs and magic were the only things keeping him sleeping and silent right now.

Sadiq, the Turk who'd teased Alfred up until he'd snapped his arm in two places, had lost his mask in the explosion. His Egyptian partner was perched next to him, face grim as he carefully removed the hundreds of pieces of shrapnel from his torso. Matthias lay next to them, biting hard into a belt as a pale Lukas carefully removed what looked like metal shards from his spine.

Natalia, the only girl in the group, looked like she'd been closest to the supposed IED. Her entire body was covered in burns. Muscle, even bone, was now visible in far too many places. She lay perfectly still, the young brunette who went by Ravis sitting at her side, chanting to keep a sleep spell up as he carefully wrapped her with bandages and healing salve. Austin looked like he'd been the least hurt, but he was also the only one getting a very large piece of metal gingerly removed from his eye socket. Emil was as white as a ghost, but his hands were steady, lips moving consistently as he kept a sleep spell in place.

Alfred felt like someone had injected ice into his veins. He looked around, and seeing Vash standing watch over the bustle slowly made his way over to him. Honestly Alfred wasn't completely convinced he was awake, but even if he was, he had to know what was going on. Something had gone wrong, in more ways than one.

Once he stood by the armed and dangerous Swiss, Alfred managed, "Brief me?"

"You've been out approximately eight and a half hours. After the first four we got a matching ping on your machines. They were the volunteers to bring back whoever was found. Within an hour they were taking a mass transport to Mexico. From there they tracked the boys to a cave outside Mexico City. After their last update, the only message we got was a distress signal from Austin. I went in, found what was left. It's been half an hour since we've gotten them all back."

Alfred was quiet for a minute, then asked, "Why aren't they healing?"

"They are healing. Faster than humans, slower than Magica. The bomb was like the virus, designed and spelled specifically to hurt us. While not lethal, it was very painful. It will also be days, possibly a week, before they're all back to normal. If they were human, they would all be dead."

"No shit," breathed Alfred.

"But it means we were right. Your program provided good intel, Alfred. We underestimated the enemy, allowed the spirited to run off without thought, and we paid the price." Turning to regard him steadily, Vash said, "You found them once. Go find them again. I want heads to put on pikes."

The last word was barely out of Vash's mouth when Alfred grabbed him by the shirt, hauling him around and getting in his face. "Why did you just go out like that?" he demanded, vision going red. "It was a stupid move! You people are supposed to be centuries old, but you made a rookie mistake. You don't just charge in headlong into an unknown territory with an unknown enemy. You should have gotten me back up, we should have gotten better gear together. Recon, never go into battle without recon. What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

Vash let Alfred get all this out, not even complaining as he was slammed back against the granite pillar. When the human stopped for breath he said coldly, "Look at them. You would have been dead, human. That bomb wasn't just made to hurt Magica, it was nuclear. Very small, probably the size of thumbnail, and surrounded by shrapnel spelled so it would hurt us. It was set to go off the moment all of them were in the cave. More magic. There is no guarantee we would have detected it. The only point you have correct is that they should have waited. They did not listen to me. Now it is a moot point." Reaching up to slowly pry Alfred's hands from his shirt, he said, "Get back to work. Find them again."

"So what? So they can set another bomb, blow up more of us?"

"If they do, we have traces of what they used before so we will not fall into the same trap a second time. But I am not sure they would try it a second time for that reason."

"How can you be so calm about all this?" demanded Alfred.

Vash regarded him with a steady gaze. "If I do not remain calm then I will be of no use to my own people. I am a guard, a sentry of my own neutrality. The only reason I am taking sides in this battle is because I have my own life and that of my sister's to worry about. Otherwise I would not allow you to stay. Keep that in mind, Alfred."

Alfred watched him walk away, fists trembling at his sides. He turned to look at the Magica on the cots again, swallowing dryly. The party had included some of their best fighters, he noticed. There were still some left, but Alfred didn't want to just stumble from booby trap to booby trap until he was the only one left. No, they had to get smart about this. He'd have to revise his programs.

Mouth set in a tight line, he marched back into Arthur's room.

**BREAK/BREAK\BREAK**

"It's not awesome to starve yourself."

"Go away," said Alfred absently.

Gilbert kicked the door shut, wandering over to plop down in a spare chair. "You've been at it for hours."

"And I'm not done yet."

"Done with what?"

Slowly, Alfred sat back, scrubbing his face tiredly. "The reason there was a ping before was because there were signs of repeated appearances of both those boys at the same time."

Gilbert made a face. "It worked. No one booby traps something for no reason."

"I know. Security cameras are a new thing, but photos have been a thing for a while, right?"

_"Ja,"_ agreed the Prussian, nodding philosophically. "First heard rumors in the early 1800's. They put the first ones on metal, actually. Gave it a try in the early 1850's, myself. The first photograph of the Awesome me. Why?"

"There were photo's, and before that there were paintings, drawings. I need to go back farther. One of the reasons they got into that trap in the first place is probably because whoever we're after guessed we'd try this. So let's go back to before he thought it would be a problem. They'd be less careful about showing their face in the 1900's, right? Or before?"

Gilbert grinned. "I like you. You're clever, for a human."

Alfred made a face. "Why do you people have a hard time remembering my name? You remember what you had for breakfast two hundred years ago."

The albino shrugged, but his expression had become grim. "Eh, don't take it personally. It's just that we have a hard time taking you seriously, you know? Humans don't last long. Besides, it hurts less when you die if we don't get attached." Lacing his fingers behind his head, Gilbert added, "How long have you known, anyway?"

Glancing at this still comatose Arthur, Alfred said, "Almost two weeks. And we've been here for over half that."

The Prussian frowned. "You've known Arthur for two weeks and he told you? Just like that?"

"No, I've known him since I was like, seven. He lived next door to the house I grew up in, back in Texas."

"Arthur doesn't like children," said Gilbert bluntly.

"No, it's not that," protested Alfred. "It's just...I don't think he knows how to deal with them is all. He was always really good to me."

Ruby red eyes studied him for a long minute before turning back to the screens. "How is it coming?"

Alfred chewed his lip, tapping the table anxiously. "There are a few more places that have similar hits to Mexico, but they're less frequent, and older. I'm trying to see if I can find a converging point, get a lock on their real hideout. That's why I'm going back farther. To us _humans_, when you're hiding like this, if you're in one spot for ten years or more you're either a sleeper or really old. Really lucky. Especially with today's tech. But you guys like to stay in one place for as long as you can, right?"

_ "Ja,"_ affirmed Gilbert. "Me and Luddy lived in this one castle for three hundred years straight."

"Okay, so assuming they're Magica themselves...hypothetically it should work. Just don't tell them yet, alright? I don't want them charging off again. I'm not letting my intel getting anyone else blown up if I can help it. Shouldn't you be drinking?"

Gilbert made a face. "Not awesome."

"You're welcome to stay here, but only if you keep drinking."

The albino sighed mournfully, but reluctantly got to his feet, trudging towards the door.

**BREAK/BREAK\BREAK**

Alfred sat next to Arthur's bed, head lulling forward. He'd finally gotten a new program running, but it would take time before it could do its work. Now was the most painful part- waiting.

He'd gone back out into the main room, but had soon retreated to Arthur's bedside. The healing process was a slow and painful one, a combination of radiation and spelled shrapnel making sure of it. Alfred couldn't bear to watch it for long. At least Arthur wasn't in any pain. A shot had put him into a coma, magic kept him in a state of semi-suspended animation. Everything save for his vitals were at a standstill. No need for food, hydration, or even a bedpan. Alfred had heard someone refer to it as the Sleeping Beauty Spell, but he hadn't been paying much attention to his surroundings of late.

One hand gently held Arthur's wrist, the snail-paced rhythm of his pulse holding a sort of calming effect. If nothing else, he wasn't dead. He wouldn't be for a long time, not if Alfred had anything to say about it.

Sadly, this also meant Arthur was in the same state as when he was put under. He still had the rashes, his skin was still pale, clammy. He looked...old. Ancient. It broke Alfred's heart to see him like this, but he also couldn't bring himself to leave.

It was here the recent stress and lack of sleep caught up with him again. As he waited for an alert from the computers, Alfred slowly nodded off, still holding Arthur's hand.

**BREAK/BREAK\BREAK**

When Alfred opened his eyes next, he was standing in his backyard, staring up a tall fence and an even taller house. At the top of that house rested a triangular Superman kite. He'd gotten it for Christmas, and had been waiting all year to fly it. He'd wanted to before, but either he was in school or his parents had made him do his homework instead. Now, when he finally got it out, it got caught on the old grumpy man's roof!

Chin set stubbornly, Alfred marched up to the fence. Theirs was the side with the horizontal support boards, so it wasn't that hard to climb. He'd done it before with Mathew, peeking over its top to try and get a glimpse of the man they'd all avoided on reputation alone. From there, it was all too easy for an accomplished tree climber to maneuver his way over onto an oak's limb and up onto the roof.

Alfred climbed on all fours to keep his balance, tongue sticking out in concentration. The wind tugged at his clothes, but he ignored it. About halfway up one of the steep hills of shingles, his foot caught on an old leaf, and his foot slid out from under him. His knee hit the shingles hard, and Alfred threw himself flat, clinging to the roof like a monkey. Glancing down, he saw a spot where the roof created a triangle shape at one edge, probably over a window. Brow furrowed in concentration, Alfred let his grip loosen, lifting his sneakers from where his toes had been digging into the shingle.

It took a few ungraceful, very un-hero-like thumps, but he managed to slide back down to the triangular perch. Sitting astride it like a petting zoo pony, Alfred dusted the grit off his hands elbows, rubbing his palms on his clothes. He'd seen people do that on TV before, and his father had said it was to help the people grip better.

Breath caught and a more sound grip in promise, Alfred turned over and started to climb again. He got about halfway up the roof again before a door slammed bellow him. For a moment his heart lurched into his chest, panic more potent than the tiny jolt he'd felt when he'd started to fall shooting up his spine. The old grumpy man must have heard his fall! No, he was too close now. He'd get that kite even if the old grumpy man ate him anyway! He was the hero, hero's never left anything unfinished.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

Alfred yelped. The old grumpy man sounded angry, but he also sounded very funny. The boy, who'd until now managed to stay mostly upright, had to brace a hand on the shingle to keep from falling backwards in his surprise. Old grumpy men weren't supposed to sound funny, right?

Turning back a little, he called down, "Sorry mister! I have to get my kite!"

"How did it get up there? How did _you_ get up there?" He didn't sound very happy, if anything he sounded angrier, but the way he spoke was still something of fascination for the seven year old.

"There's not much wind right now, but there's always more the higher you go," Alfred explained, still climbing. Maybe if he hurried, he could get his kite and get away before this old grumpy man decided to eat him. "I wanted to fly it, but I couldn't, so I tried to throw it off our roof. But there still wasn't enough wind, so it went onto your roof."

There. That was the truth. It was what his parents insisted he should say instead of making up stories, no matter how much better they were.

"Fine, fine, but how did you get up there?"

"I climbed," replied Alfred, shaking his head at the man. Honestly, wasn't it obvious?

Finally, he reached the kite. He turned, bracing his backside against the roof so he could use both hands freely. The string had caught on some vines that had small thorns, holding his precious kite in place. Alfred got it unhooked as quickly as he could, then slung it across his back before he started a controlled slide back down the roof. He made it about halfway down before he really took in the irritated stance of the old grumpy man. He looked like someone from old books, like from the World Wars. What was that place called again? London? No, that was a city. England, that was it. The place where they had a giant clock and drank lots of tea and drove awesome red buses that were as tall as a house. They wore clothes like that, right? Slacks like you wore to fancy parties, long shirts like daddy's wore to work, and a vest without sleeves. He was missing an umbrella or cane, but his shoes were still shinny.

Suddenly this old grumpy man posed the potential for being interesting. By the time Alfred reached the roof's edge, he'd decided it was worth the risk of being eaten to not just run away. Besides, that would be rude, and like his tall tales, rudeness was a persistent point with his parents.

So, rather than scramble back over the fence, Alfred went from the tree limb to the ground, beaming up at the scowling man."Sorry for the trouble, mister. You know, you're not as crotchety as they say you are."

That was a word he'd learned from the crosswords his own grandfather liked to do. Crotchety. A fancy, adult word that meant grumpy. Alfred was quite proud he'd used it, and in the right context too, no shoehorning needed. The man didn't look like he knew what to say, either! Wow, Alfred must have really impressed him.

When he finally spoke, though, it was only to demand, "I beg your pardon?"

Uh-oh. That was a warning phrase his mom used with other adults. It meant she'd been offended. Wait, she used it with _adults_. This man took him seriously! Ha! And people said Mathew was the mature one!

Deciding to elaborate, to explain why he'd said this, Alfred said, "Everybody says you're old and grumpy, but you're not that old, are you? You're hair's not even white. That's why we always walk on the other side of the street."

That much was true. Honestly he'd never gotten a really good look at the man before, aside from being able to tell his hair wasn't white. It wasn't even gray, like most old people's. It was sandy blond, and a little shaggy, and a little messy. He had big eyebrows though, like caterpillars, but Alfred didn't point. "It's rude to point!" was yet another rule that got hissed to him on more than one occasion by his frequently embarrassed mother.

Since his latest statement seemed to have surprised the man into silence, Alfred took the opportunity to say, "You talk funny, where are you from?"

The man eyed him critically, but gave a stiff reply. "England."

Ha! He was right! "Do they always talk like that over there?"

"Some. We have different accents like they do here."

Really? Wow. He'd heard a lot of American accents, too. Cajun, Bostonian, New York, Wisconsin, and of course his native Texas. "Oh. Thanks for letting me get my kite, mister."

With that he hurried over to the tree, deciding he'd pushed his luck enough. Alfred made quick work of the tree, scrambling up it with practiced ease. He made it to the top of the fence, one foot braced on the beam opposite before he paused. He was the only kid in the whole neighborhood that had not only gotten in and out of the old grumpy man's yard in one piece, but he'd actually talked to the man. He wasn't that bad, actually. Alfred liked listening to his accent, it made things sounds more interesting. Even his scowl had shifted to a deep frown, vivid green eyes studying him hard.

Deciding to get proof he'd spoken to the man, he asked, "What's your name, mister?" There, if he could give the other kids the man's name, one he hadn't made up, they'd believe him.

"Arthur," the man said stiffly.

Alfred beamed. And, remembering his manners, said, "Alfred, Alfred F. Jones!" before clambering over the fence completely. He landed back in his own yard, prized kite in tow with a puff in his chest. He'd gone over for a kite, and he'd come back with the old grumpy man's name too! Arthur. His name was Arthur. And he wasn't so bad.

He was walking back towards the house when the fog rolled in, quickly obscuring everything and swelling around his feet. It didn't stay long, hurried away as if by a gale of wind. When it did, the scene had changed, and Alfred was making down the street at a dead run. Sweat was rolling down his face, his sneakers smacking against the black, steaming asphalt.

Alfred glanced back, noticing there were only three other's running too. Dang it, four more were hiding too! All the good spots were gone already. He had to find a new place, and fast. They'd played this enough that everyone always looked in the normal places, so he'd have to find a place no one had hidden in before.

Panting hard at the combination of a Texan summer and running for a whole block, Alfred looked frantically on either side of the street. He was almost home, now. Even Mathew had disappeared. This was _not_ cool! Hero's didn't get found first in hide and seek!

Desperate, Alfred made a snap decision. He turned, bursting through the low gate and down the short sidewalk to Arthur's house. He jumped the steps and threw himself on the door, knocking frantically.

It took a minute, but as Alfred bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet the door was pulled open. Arthur regarded him, a frown on his face. Before he could ask, Alfred blurted, "Can I hide in your house? It's really hot, and all the other good spots are taken!"

He turned, peering back down the street. Tommy was down to the single digits! "Eight! Seven!"

Alfred was afraid Arthur would send him away, but instead the man said, "I was about to make some tea, but I think lemonade would be better suited for the weather. Care to join me?"

Shoulders slumping in relief, Alfred scurried inside. Arthur sat him down in what he called a parlor, bringing in a tray a few minutes later. It was like something from those movies his parents watched. A fancy-looking glass pitcher and matching cups, and a plate with pretty roses around the edges piled high with odd, circular cake-like things.

"What are those?" asked Alfred as the man poured two tall glasses of lemonade.

"Scones," said Arthur absently.

Alfred still didn't recognize the name, but he wasn't one to turn down a snack, and they looked like pastries. Having yet to find a sweet he didn't like, Alfred decided to try one. They were a little dry, crunchy, but still good. He munched happily, feet swinging beneath his chair as Arthur sat across from him.

"How come this tastes different than the stuff mom makes?" asked Alfred after downing half the lemonade in his glass. It was stronger, more sour, but that just made it taste better.

"She probably uses a mix. That's made from real lemons."

"Really? Like on the commercials?" Alfred asked, eyes widening.

He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw Arthur's lips briefly twitch upward.

That was about when things started to change. As Alfred munched happily, Arthur leaned back in his chair, watching him. "You never did change much, lad."

Alfred blinked up at him. "What 'cha mean, Artie?"

Rather than get annoyed, as he had the day he'd come over to fly his kite, Arthur's eyes softened. "Mmm, think this is a dream, do you love?"

Slowly, Alfred sat down his scone, swallowing his mouthful and wiping his lips on the back of his hand. "A dream?"

"Yes. This is a memory. A pleasant one. If it's any conciliation it took me a while to become lucid myself. If I didn't dream so little I probably would have just let it go."

Alfred frowned hard, trying to think. It was hard, but...Arthur, Artie. "You're sick," he said slowly. "You're magic. We had to...

Tears welled in his eyes, his seven year old self a bit less emotionally controlled than his adult self. Arthur stood, coming around to kneel next to him. Taking Alfred's hands in his, he said gently, "Don't do that, love. I'm fine, really. I'm glad you're getting rest." He pressed a hand to Alfred's cheek, smiling kindly.

Alfred sniffed, trying to blink away the tears. Arthur looked fine, he looked exactly as Alfred remembered from that day. "You don't look sick anymore."

Arthur nodded. "Aye. You must have been next to me when you fell asleep. You're close enough to me that dream sharing isn't an outrageous thought. I've heard of it, but I have yet to experience it. I quite like it, if it means extra time with you, love."

"But I'm a kid," protested Alfred.

"I know. You can change that if you want to. But you in any form is plenty for me."

If anything Alfred's tears were getting harder to control. He wanted to get older just so he'd have a better grip on himself. "I love you, Arthur," he said, sniffing. "I don't want you to die."

"I won't die, love," Arthur told him gently. "I trust you. Now, close your eyes. Imagine yourself older, in the body you have now. If you want to change, you have to make it happen."

Alfred screwed his eyes shut. Not to wake up, but to focus. It was hard, he was still dreaming after all, but it was easier than he thought it'd be.

He imagined himself as he was before he'd fallen asleep, in the body of a full grown man. Six foot three, strong build, muscles, even the unwanted body fat and tattoo he hadn't meant to get. Hell, he even thought of the glasses he'd taken to wearing. What? He liked them. They were useful and made him look cool.

"There you go. Fell better, poppet?"

Alfred opened his eyes, and smiled. He stood, pulled Arthur to his feet, and yanked him into his arms. Arthur grunted, but then went limp, hugging Alfred back.

"I've not been gone that long, have I?" he mumbled into Alfred's chest.

"Four days."

"And here I thought it had been a week," mused Arthur. He reached up to brace his hand on Alfred's shoulders, pulling away enough to look at him. "Look at me, love. It's only my body that's having difficulties."

Alfred pressed a hand to his cheek. "I know, I just...I just got you, I don't want to lose you."

"You won't. You have my word. Now, has anything happened in the last four days besides the decline in your morale?"

First he told him about what they'd first found, about magic being the cause. Arthur looked grim, but didn't comment besides asking if there was anything else. Reluctantly, Alfred told him about Mexico. Arthur scowled, but shook his head. "Bloody idiots. Still, it does sound like them. We're not used to dealing with such an aware enemy."

"If my program works, I don't want the same thing to happen again. A small team would be least likely to be noticed. If you could pick one or two people, who would they be?"

"You're not going."

"I never said-

"You didn't have to. I won't let you go running off after this person. Look at what happened last time."

"Arthur, please."

The warlock gave him a long look. Reluctantly, though, he said, "I suppose you'd want Gilbert. He's not far along, and if there' nothing to accelerate his condition he should be in decent enough shape to hold his own. He fancies himself a rebel, and he's one of the few who'd be willing to help you slip away for this."

"Thanks, Arthur. Is there anyone else?"

"I'm afraid not. Ivan won't leave Yao's side, and Austin is down for the count, so is Sadiq. Essentially everyone you might want went out on that first attempt, love. Unless you can pry Ivan or Emil away, Gilbert is your best bet. But that's all the more reason for-

Alfred dipped down, capturing his mouth. At first Arthur protested, trying to pull away. Alfred let him, but only so he could move his attention to the man's throat. Arthur's protests trailed off as he slowly relaxed in Alfred's arms, clinging to his shoulders.

"Damn it I really shouldn't let you do this," said Arthur, not sounding at all convincing.

"Why?" murmured Alfred, trailing opened mouthed kisses across his collar bone.

"You're too bloody good at it," protested the warlock, sounding a little breathless.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You would."

Alfred was moving back to his mouth when the world around them shuttered violently. He jerked away, eyes widening, grabbing Arthur by the shoulders. "What's happening?"

"Someone's trying to wake you, poppet, relax."

"Relax? I don't wanna go! I wanna stay here!"

"It's only a dream, love. You belong in the real world. I won't be going anywhere, promise."

Before Alfred could argue, he was jerking upright, gasping. Suddenly he was staring down at the sick version of Arthur, still clinging to the warlock's wrist and hand with both of his own. When he turned, ready to throttle whoever had torn him away from Arthur, he found a very exited Gilbert.

Ignoring the anger on his face, the albino smacked him on the back. "You did it! And only in six hours, too. You're awesome, you know that? You were right, they didn't bother hiding five years ago."

Alfred lurched to his feet, grabbing Gilbert by the shoulder as the albino made for the door. "Don't!" he hissed.

Gilbert frowned, looking at him. _"Was?_ Why?"

"You can't, alright? You can't tell anyone yet. You saw what happened last time. Let me look at the intel. If it's a solid lead, I'm not going to let a bunch of Magica going charging off and spook them right when I have a fix on them. No offence, but you guys have absolutely no experience in this. I do."

The Prussian seemed to consider this. "Since you have chosen the Awesome me to keep in the loop, no offense taken. But what is it you want to do?"

"I'm going to do what I'm trained to do," said Alfred, turning towards the monitors. "I'm only telling you because Arthur vouched for you."

"Maybe Eyebrows is more awesome than I gave him credit for," mused Gilbert.

Alfred ignored him, returning to his previous seat. If everything worked out, he'd have a lot of work to do.

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